


Benchpressed

by lockmyheart



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gym AU, M/M, Pining, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Frustration, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, crushing from afar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:28:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1932027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockmyheart/pseuds/lockmyheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey hates the gym. He wouldn't have gone at all if it wasn't for the fact that he has a month of free trial membership. But then maybe that gorgeous weight-lifting redhead is enough to inspire Mickey to show up again. And again. And again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you know, I hate gyms almost as much as Mickey does in this fic and I've only ever been in one a handful of times, so if my gym lingo isn't up to par, that's why, please bear with me.
> 
> More characters and tags will be added as the story goes on. Enjoy and please leave a comment if you have one!
> 
> (Also the title of this story is probably not actually a word, but I feel like it fits this fic so I couldn't help myself, forgive me.)

The moment Mickey stepped in through the doors he regretted coming, but it was too late to turn back around now. People had already seen him come in, he couldn’t turn in the door like a pussy.

He drew himself up to his full height and stepped over to the desk, showing the woman behind the counter his one month free trial membership card. She smiled at him and nodded, wishing him a good day and a good work-out. He nearly winced. Yeah, as if _that_ existed.

The changing room reminded him of high school and Mickey had no good memories associated with high school. He grimaced and got changed in a corner, facing the wall, hyper aware of the activity around him. Why the fuck was he here again?

Mickey hovered in the locker room for ten more minutes, stalling, pretending his shoe laces needed tightening. He felt ridiculous. He was very well aware that the anxiety was stupid and unnecessary, but it came creeping up his throat nonetheless. Everyone else could go to a gym no problem, it was just him that was too fucked up to handle it. Mickey hated the very concept of working out, especially working out in front of other people. Plus, the types of people that go gyms were as far from Mickey’s kind of people as it was possible to get. Gym freaks, they’re all bubbly and shit, way too happy for their own good. It couldn’t be good for you to drink that many smoothies or whatever health freaks even drink to ‘cleanse’ or whatever the fuck.

Fuck Mandy. Just fuck her. Fuck her for giving him her membership card and fuck him for taking it. Now when he had it he couldn’t _not_ go; where Mickey came from you never throw away free shit, even if it’s free shit you don’t want. Yeah, maybe he has wanted to buff up a bit, but he had planned on just doing that at home. He had some weights stashed away somewhere, he could just as easily just throw them around a bit. Here, he felt stupid, awkward, and so out of place.

He stalled for a few more minutes before he summoned a ridiculous amount of courage for such a small thing, and stepped into the gym, once again cursing his sister.

It was like all eyes were on him (even though they weren’t really) and his skin began to crawl. What he wanted to do most of all was make a run for it, but if it was too late earlier then it was definitely too late now. _Pull yourself together, Mickey._

The gym was filled with fit as fuck people. Slim girls with high ponytails ran on the treadmills, ear buds in their ears, hair swinging back and forth, feet pounding against the belts. Guys with bulging biceps and washboard abs lifted weights and worked machines that, to Mickey, looked more like torture devices from world war two than anything else. He was also briefly fascinated by a thirty-ish year old woman with guns the size of Mickey’s head. Well, if he wasn’t already intimidated, he sure as hell was now.

Fuck it. He couldn’t just stand here like an idiot, that was only going to make him stand out even more than his sorry excuse for a workout attire already did. Mickey had never felt this inadequate in his life. Why did everyone had to dress so fancy, it was a fucking gym, stop with the colorful tights already.

At first he looked around for the activity that would render him the most invisible, but then he decided that would be a bad idea. Trying a machine he had no idea how to work would make him look like a moron and attract attention. There was no way in _hell_ that he was asking some gym freak for help either, so Mickey opted for what he was actually good at, which was running. He could run for ages without needing a break, running was easy, safe, and familiar.

He ignored the little voice in his head that said that if he wanted to run he could just run around the block at home, he shouldn’t waste a month’s free trial membership on something he could do at home. But seriously, what else could he do? And he had to admit that he had always wanted to try out a treadmill, they looked kind of fun. They were the only things in the gym that seemed like anything even _close_ to fun.

Mickey walked up to a treadmill next to a tall girl with a particularly bouncy ponytail. He stepped onto the machine, was momentarily overwhelmed by all the buttons, but then pressed ‘start’ and the thing began to move in a slow walk. He quickly figured out how to speed it up and soon he was going in a slightly faster than average jog. This wasn’t so bad, he thought. He could do this.

One thing he didn’t understand was why the treadmills had to be facing mirrors. Huge-ass mirrors, covering the entire wall from top to bottom. Who the hell wanted to look at their own red-ass sweaty face as they worked out? He would rather just look straight into the wall. To distract himself from his own face, Mickey looked at the girl next to him. Her hair was dark brown and soft looking, her face bare of makeup, and she was panting slightly through her mouth as she raced across the surface of the treadmill. He was almost hypnotized by the rhythm of her hair and he didn’t realize he was staring until she caught his eye in the mirror and smiled.

Mickey looked away immediately, swearing under his breath. Great, now she probably thought he was checking her out or something. The urge to leave crept back on him now and just as he wondered whether ten minutes was an acceptable amount of time to have spent in a gym, he looked back up into the mirror and his eyes happened to land on one of the gym freaks lifting weights behind him. Mickey swore he could hear the hallelujah choir.  

The guy was slowly rising and lowering his arms, looking at himself in the mirror as he did it and Mickey figured that yeah, if he looked like _that_ then he would have wanted mirrors everywhere in his house. He was tall, with fiery red hair and pale skin, a combination that Mickey usually found slightly strange but he supposed every rule had an exception because this guy looked _good._ Good with a capital ‘g’, even. He was wearing a sinfully tight white tank-top and Mickey found himself ogling him like a total creep, by now running on complete autopilot. The guy’s biceps bulged as he lifted the weights and Mickey continued to run as if he could run closer to him if he just tried hard enough.

Watching Red proved to be both excellent motivation and the perfect distraction from everything else going on around him.

Fifteen minutes later, Red put the weights down, turned around, and proceeded to bend over, hands flat on the floor. Mickey thanked god for small mercies; most of his blood was going to his legs because of the running, which was definitely a good thing because damn, that sight could have very easily gotten him hard any other day.

Nowadays, Mickey was mostly alright with his attraction to guys. If he could choose he probably wouldn’t have picked it as his orientation, but it was fine, he had learned to deal with it. He wasn’t the relationship type, so that wasn’t a problem. Finding decent sex partners was more difficult, especially growing up. The latter had been a major source of frustration for him as a teen, and he had had plenty of near-breakdowns over his misfortune, so jealous of how easy everyone else had it. You couldn’t be a guy and pick up another guy the way his brothers would pick up chicks in the south side of Chicago. ‘Hey, wanna fuck?’ would have earned him a knife in the stomach, not a dick in the ass.

So Mickey didn’t fuck a guy until he moved out of his dad’s house at twenty, fleeing to Columbus with his sister. Ideally they would both like to be even further away from their father, but this was as far as their money had got them so they had settled. Mickey’s first time with a guy was like that first breath of air you take after having been underwater for a long, long time. That fuck was his first breath of air throughout his entire life. Suddenly, at twenty years old, Mickey knew what sex was supposed to be like, and he wouldn’t admit this to anyone even with a gun to his head, but after that orgasm he had almost cried.

Red was still stretching, or doing some sort of yoga exercises or whatever it was, and Mickey was enjoying the view immensely. Before he knew it he had been running for forty minutes straight. The girl next to him had long since stepped off and disappeared and Mickey only now noticed that he was in the middle of two teenaged girls working out together, chatting with each other on either side of him. Huh. He supposed the polite thing to do would have been to trade with one of them so they could be next to each other, but fuck that, they had held out this long.

It had been forty-five minutes when Red wiped the sweat off his forehead and walked out of eye-shot. Mickey swore internally, but he didn’t have to wait long. Red came back with a towel flung over his shoulder and his lips locked firmly around the tip of a water bottle. Mickey nearly swallowed his tongue, watching Red’s throat bob as he swallowed mouthful after mouthful. He couldn’t help but imagine Red’s lips wrapped around certain body parts.  

To Mickey’s great disappointment, Red seemed to be finished with his workout, because after having finished the bottle he left, disappearing into the changing room.

Mickey almost followed him but then thought, no, definitely not. As much as he’d love to see Red naked in the shower he didn’t feel like descending to that level of creepiness, it was bad enough that he had been staring at him with his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth for nearly an hour. His legs felt like jelly when he stepped off the machine and he did some half-hearted stretches while staring at the clock, wondering how long Red would take to get changed and when it would be safe for Mickey to leave as well.

He decided ten minutes was enough but stayed for five more, just in case.

Red wasn’t in the changing room when he got there and Mickey told himself he wasn’t disappointed.

* * *

 

Mickey didn’t shower at the gym (fuck, no), he just changed clothes and got home as quickly as possible. Once home in his own apartment he showered first and then fell down onto the couch, completely exhausted.

He was almost asleep when he heard several insistent knocks on his door. “What?” he called, knowing the walls were thin enough so that his voice could be heard on the outside if he yelled loudly enough. He knew this because of some very traumatic incidents of overhearing the neighbors having sex. And vice versa.

“Let me in, asshole!”

Oh, great. Mickey rubbed his forehead, annoyed. At twenty-one and twenty-two, Mickey and Mandy no longer lived together, but rather across the hall from each other in an apartment complex in a decent enough part of the city. Thank god they were across the hall instead of wall to wall, Mickey had heard more than enough of his sister’s sex life when they still lived at home.

Mickey had moved more than enough today, he was not getting up even if there was a fire. So instead of walking over to unlock the door, he stayed put. “Where’s your fucking key?”

“Forgot it!”

“So go get it!”

Having each other within close reach was nice, but Mandy’s impromptu visits could be annoying as hell at times. He heard a door slam, presumably Mandy’s, and only a couple seconds later the lock clicked and Mandy appeared, holding two bags of something that smelled like Chinese take-out. Alright, so her impromptu visits could also be pretty fucking genius.

He reached, making grabby hands at the food wordlessly. Mandy rolled her eyes and handed it over to him. She lifted his legs only to shove them to the floor, and flopped down in the, now, free space.

“Ey, there’s a chair right over there, bitch,” Mickey complained and wormed his legs back up and dumped them heavily onto his sister’s thighs.

She pinched his calf, ignoring him. “You weren’t home earlier, I wanted to ask you if you wanted to watch a movie.”

Mickey knew his sister well enough to know what she was actually saying was ‘where were you? I’m a curious bitch who wants to know everything that’s going on in your life’.

He sat up, because it was just more practical to eat sitting up instead of lying on your back. He contemplated lying, but fuck, he was too tired to make the effort. “Went to the gym. It was horrible, I’m never going again.”

She laughed, digging around in her food with a plastic fork for the pieces she liked best. “I know, right. The only reason I’ve gone a couple times is to pick up ripped guys.”

Mickey stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork and said nothing. He wished he had turned the TV on so the silence wouldn’t be so obvious.

Mandy turned to look at him. “So did you?”

“Did I what?”

She sighed heavily. “Pick up a guy, slowpoke.”

He snorted and pointedly said, “No.” For a moment he imagined an alternate universe in which he had Mandy’s seductive skills and nonexistent sense of shame, where he just leaned close to Red and pulled him into the showers by the waistband of his pants.

“I don’t understand you,” Mandy complained and threw her feet up on his table, crossing one ankle over the other. Mickey shook himself out of his fantasy before she could notice the suddenly faraway look on his face. “We move away, we can do whatever we want, _whoever_ we want, but you barely even date.”

“I never date.”

“Exactly. Why the fuck not? Nothing’s stopping you.”

“We’ve been through this, Mandy,” Mickey said, squirming the way he always did when Mandy brought this up. “It’s not my thing, that’s it.”

Every once in a while Mandy would casually try to set him up with random dudes, some co-worker or even some random she met on the street, but he had never accepted. Even if he had been the dating kind he would not have let his sister pick out dates for him, that was just lame.

Mandy made a face that was ridiculously close to being a pout. “What did you do to that guy, what’s-his-name, Dan? He was kinda cute, he stayed over a couple times. I liked him.”

“If you liked him so much you should have just taken him, I think he was into chicks too.” Mickey reached for the remote and turned the TV on, finally. “We had sex, then we stopped having sex. Mystery solved. Never dated him.”

Mandy sighed loudly again, exasperated and long-suffering, but left it alone.

They watched movies until three in the morning when Mandy suddenly swore, jumped up, and ran over to her own apartment after remembering she had work in just a few hours. Mickey stumbled into his bedroom, pulled his clothes off and was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

He dreamt of red hair and pale freckled skin stretched over long, lean muscles. He dreamt of deep kisses and hot flesh against hot flesh. He dreamt of bending over and holding onto the handgrips of a treadmill while a soft tongue slid down his spine.  

Mickey woke up panting and with a hand down his boxers.

He jerked off still in a sleepy haze and came with a soft grunt, picturing Red in the shower after his workout.

Mickey wiped his hand on the sheets and gazed up at the ceiling. With a groan he realized he had to see Red again, even if that meant another nerve-wracking visit to the gym. 


	2. Down, Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetad, so all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Thank you for your comments this far! I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Mickey had a dilemma.

He wanted to see Red again, but his free membership was only for a month and he didn’t know Red’s workout schedule, or if he even had one. There was no way in hell Mickey was going to go by the gym every day just with the faint hope that he might be there.  

He told himself to stop being such a pathetic stalker and settled for waiting until Monday, in the hopes that Red perhaps worked out each Monday of the week. That wouldn’t be such a stretch, would it? People usually worked out on the same days, don’t they? Fuck if he knew.

The wait was more agonizing than he would have anticipated, which was ridiculous because Red was far from the first hot guy Mickey had ever seen. To distract himself (and to work off the steam and gradually growing sexual frustration), Mickey started going on daily runs. He did so when Mandy was at work so that she wouldn’t see him and make fun of him, because she would.

He had to admit that he didn’t hate it. By the time next Monday rolled around Mickey felt less exhausted than he usually felt and he was almost motivated to go to the gym. Almost. The hope of seeing Red helped, but the anxiety and general feeling of unease linked with gyms still weighed heavily on him. He played with the idea of staying home but fuck, he had made a promise to himself, so he would go.

He arrived at the gym at noon, the exact same time as last week. He felt just as awkward the second time around, but he didn’t stall as long in the changing room this time before he walked out into the gym with his head held high. If he pretended like he belonged then maybe he wouldn’t stick out so much. The first thing he did was to look around, pretending to look for free machines to use. He scanned every person in the room but there wasn’t a single red haired individual anywhere.  

Deflated, Mickey stepped over to a free treadmill. It was stupid, thinking he could just come in here on a random day of the week and see Red again.

Half an hour later Red was still nowhere to be seen. There was another relatively attractive guy over by the deadlifts and Mickey watched him for a while, but he wasn’t nearly as interesting as Red. His features were average, his hair nothing special; all in all he was just your regular good looking dude.

The guy must have caught Mickey looking because before long he was walking a steady pace on the treadmill next to Mickey’s. “Hey. How’s it goin’?” he asked, the tone of his voice clearly stating his intent to flirt.

Mickey nearly groaned. Why was it that he only attracted guys he wanted nothing to do with? Alright, fine, any other day Mickey might have introduced himself and let himself be chatted up, but he was really not in the mood for blonde and tanned right now. When Mickey fixated he really went in for it and now he was only in the mood for alien looking redheads.  

“Alright,” he said, eyes on the numbers blinking up at him telling him how many miles he had run.

“Impressive,” Blonde and Tanned said. At Mickey’s questioning look, he smiled, his teeth bright white and weirdly straight. “Your stamina. You’ve been going quite fast for quite a while.”

“Yeah,” Mickey said, trying his hardest not to roll his eyes. That was a blatant invite, this guy was just waiting for Mickey to come up with a sex pun. He wasn’t going to fall for it. “Look, man, I don’t usually talk while running.”

The guy seemed taken aback. “Oh, uh, sorry. I just thought… Okay.” If there was a way to climb dejectedly off of a treadmill, this guy did just that.

Mickey looked straight ahead into the mirror and kept running, brows furrowed in intense concentration for another ten minutes until his legs began to scream for mercy and his heart was threatening to jump out of his chest.

He got off the machine, wiped it off quickly, and scurried off into the changing room. He nearly collided with Blonde and Tanned in the door.

“Oh, sorry,” Blonde and Tanned said, and flushed. “I’ll just…” He stepped aside so Mickey could pass.

Mickey was in a bad mood. He was exhausted, horny, and hadn’t gotten what he came here for. So he unabashedly eyed Blonde and Tanned up and down. Might as well, he thought. “Meet me in the last stall in five,” he said curtly before he took off in the direction of the bathroom.

Blonde and Tanned remained standing dumfounded in the door. “O-okay! Right on!”

Max, as it appeared Blonde and Tanned’s name was, wasn’t bad with his mouth. Mickey ran his fingers through his blonde hair and sighed, leaning back against the wall as Max swallowed him down as deeply as he could. Mickey closed his eyes and imagined that Max was Red. It was weird, he had never considered himself inclined to carrot tops but he just couldn’t get this stupid guy he had literally only laid eyes on _once_ out of his head. Maybe he was just into his body? But then again, that wouldn’t explain it either, because Max’s body was quite similar to Red’s, if not slightly bigger. In other words, Mickey’s intense attraction made no sense.

Mickey pushed Red into the back of his mind and concentrated on the feeling of lips stretched around him. He came not soon after and Max stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. For a minute it looked like he was considering leaning in for a kiss and Mickey busied himself with tying the string of his sweatpants. “Thanks, man,” he said, because he figured he shouldn’t be too rude after this guy had gone down on his knees in a dirty bathroom stall that stank of sweat and old tennis shoes.

Max nodded and seemed to take the hint because he no longer looked as if he was about to kiss Mickey. “No problem. See you around?”

Mickey was relieved to realize that it didn’t seem like Max expected this to be anything more than just a one-time-blowjob and the tension seeped out of his shoulders. There was nothing worse than a one-night-stand asking for a cup of coffee the next day. “Yeah, sure.”

Max left with a smile on his lips and Mickey was, at the very least, slightly less sexually frustrated now than he had been when he got here.

He didn’t bother changing, he just hurried out of the changing room, gym bag hastily flung over his shoulder, but he froze in the door.  

There, over by the desk, showing the girl behind the counter his membership card, was Red.

Mickey wanted to turn around and hit his head against the wall repeatedly. He was also swallowing down the irrational urge to stalk up to him and tell him he’s fucking _late._

He did neither of those things. He simply started walking, feeling unnaturally stiff and aware of all his movements. It was like there was a sign above his head that blinked ‘HELLO I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME BUT I HAVE WET DREAMS ABOUT YOU’.

Mickey and Red passed by each other as Red made his way to the changing room. Mickey felt instantly self-conscious and stupid, all sweaty and gross, and his hair was probably all over the place. And Red fucking smiled at him. Not a flirty smile or anything like that, just a regular polite smile that normal strangers give each other when they accidentally make eye contact.

Mickey didn’t smile back, he didn’t do anything. Instead he looked straight ahead and sped up, rushing towards the exit. His heart raced like it did when he was running.

“Fuck,” he murmured once he was outside. He breathed in a large gulp of fresh air. Fuck, fuck, why couldn’t he just have smiled back? Now he must seem like a rude asshole. Well, he _was_ a rude asshole, but Red didn’t need to know that. Now Red would always think of Mickey as that rude fucker that doesn’t smile back at strangers. If he even remembered him at all. Mickey didn’t know what was worse, leaving a bad impression or not leaving an impression at all.  

“ _Fuck_ ,” he muttered again.

* * *

 

In a strange fit of frustration and embarrassment, Mickey lifted weights at home for forty-five minutes straight.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Mickey came face to face with what happened to ones body when one fails to properly stretch after a work-out. He makes his way from his bed to the bathroom barely able to bend his knees or lift his arms, swearing loudly the entire way. This was all Red’s fault for being late. Somehow. Somehow it was Red’s fault.

As he gingerly bent down to put on his socks he couldn’t help but think that if he was to meet Red today (which he wouldn’t because, come on, he had never been that lucky) he wouldn’t even be able to fuck him because spreading his legs would be torture. Not that Red was gay anyway, because again, Mickey had never been that lucky.

He spent half of the day sulking around in his apartment, watching shitty television and eating a colossal amount of junk food. He figured he was allowed after an entire week of running every day.

He swore that once every twenty minutes or so he would have flashbacks to his encounter with Red yesterday and cringe violently. Before going to sleep the night before he had laid there staring at the ceiling, mentally constructing a scenario in which he hadn’t acted like a total dick and actually said hi.

Mickey was both relieved and pissed to be called into at four in the afternoon. He was relieved because that meant he would be too busy to relive the Red fiasco over and over again the rest of the day, but he was pissed because every muscle in his body ached and the job required a lot of standing and walking around.

Mickey didn’t have a full time job, but he did have two part time ones that at least paid the bills. This one was a waitering job at a restaurant called The Parlor, a job he had only managed to land because Mandy had used to fuck the owner and had the guy so whipped he agreed to hire him without so much as an interview. Mickey was only a stand-in, so they called him when they needed him a couple hours each week, but the pay was good enough for it to add up.

Because it was actually semi-decent and not a totally shabby place, Mickey had to cover up his knuckle tattoos before he went in. It was a bitch and a half to begin with but Mandy had showed him some make-up techniques that did wonders hiding them for a couple hours.

The outfit he had to wear made him feel more ridiculous than covering his tattoos did. Not only did he have to wear a dress shirt and a vest, but he also had to wear a tie, which only made him feel suffocated.  Mandy was all ‘oh, you look so handsome’ but Mickey knew he looked stupid.

Mickey came in to work still stiff and miserable, and even more uncomfortable in his tie than he usually would be. He put on his fakest smile as he walked around the restaurant serving people, some of them so rude that it took all of Mickey’s self-control and then some not to punch them out. If this had been Mickey’s day job he would have snapped a long time ago.

“May I take your order?” he asked an elderly couple who were gazing lovingly at each other over the single candlelight.

“Oh, yes, we’ll have number ten and twenty-three, please,” the man said, reaching over to rub his thumb over the back of his wife’s wrinkly hand. “And some champagne. It’s our fortieth anniversary.” He sounded almost giddy when he said it and Mickey wanted to gag a little. Instead he smiled.

“Congratulations,” Mickey said through his smile, teeth clenched. “I’ll be back in a bit with your order.”

The couple didn’t seem to notice their waiter’s struggle, they just smiled back at him. “Thank you, darling,” the woman said.

Mickey left before his mood started to really show on his face. He _hated_ it when old people felt the need to treat him like he was their grandson. He wasn’t anyone’s _darling_ or _sweetheart_ or anything like that. He knew for a fact that if he hadn’t covered his tattoos no one here would look at him as if he was just another ‘adorable’ waiter.

The politeness was definitely the most difficult part, he always felt like he wore a mask every time he was at The Parlor. At the end of the day when the mask came off he was so exhausted after all the energy he had to put into playing a role like that that he wanted to sleep for twenty-four hours straight.

Thankfully he got through his shift without losing his shit and snapping at anyone except at the cooks a couple of times for being slow as fuck. Seriously, the cooks being slow made Mickey’s tips suffer and he’d be damned if _he_ got tipped less because of them when he was struggling against his own nature to act as if he was a nice person just so he would _get_ tips in the first place. For fuck’s sake.

Mickey was beyond tired when he got home. Not only did his body still hurt, but he was also mentally drained from faking it all evening and now even his face hurt from smiling so much. _Plus_ , now when he was alone and it was quiet he was thinking about Red again and the disastrous encounter they had. He went as far as to slap his palm against his forehead once he remembered it.

All in all, Mickey wanted nothing more than to be dead to the world, so he was quick to make his way to the bedroom. He didn’t even bother to change out of his work attire; he just crawled under the covers and fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Because of his aches and pains, Mickey didn’t work out at all the next couple of days. He had his construction job as well and that kept him occupied until Friday rolled around and Mickey had nothing to do, no construction nor restaurant work and no Mandy to hang out with because she had a day shift at the diner. Damn, maybe he needed to get some friends that he actually hung out with outside of work.

He was about to go out for a run when he decided to fuck it. A free membership was a free membership, he couldn’t just use that up on Mondays only. He would go. He would suck it up and go and maybe try some of the other machines this time.

Hell, maybe he would run into Max and let him blow him again.  

Mickey arrived at the gym completely unprepared, so when he entered the room as saw Red standing there looking gorgeous as fuck in that same white tank-top and grey sweats, Mickey felt his entire body grow cold before it turned into raw heat. Fuck. He looked away and scurried off towards the treadmills with his head down. Seeing Red made him chicken out about the machines, there was no way he would try one now, what if he fucked up and made a fool out of himself where Red could see? It was bad enough that Red thought he was an asshole, Mickey wasn’t about to give him the impression that he was an _incompetent_ asshole on top of that.  

He could still see Red in the mirror; he was walking over to a pull-up bar and proceeded to lift and lower his entire body with such precise and controlled movements that Mickey didn’t know if he was more impressed or aroused.

Begrudgingly he thought _hey, I could do that maybe_ but just the thought of going over there and do the same made him want to laugh hysterically. Not that he would look as graceful as Red anyway, that guy had some serious upper body strength. Mickey wondered whether Red would be able to lift him up and throw him onto a bed. Or maybe hold him up as he fucked him against a wall.

Mickey stared for several long moments until he realized he was standing on a treadmill that wasn’t even moving. He glanced around quickly, checking to see if anyone had noticed, and pressed ‘start’.                                                                                    

He continued to watch Red do chin-ups while he jogged at a leisure pace. The way Red’s arm muscles bulged should be illegal.

And as if Mickey wasn’t already drooling, Red’s shirt had to go and ride up, exposing his midriff. Mickey’s mouth watered, eyes zeroing in on the prominent v on his stomach leading down to sweats that hung so low on his hips it was barely hiding anything. The black waistband of Red’s underwear was showing and it made Mickey want to just slide a hand down under it.  

Mickey clutched the handles of the treadmill, his knuckles white. The numbers that kept track of his pulse had skyrocketed after Red’s shirt had decided to give Mickey a sneak peek. If Mickey hadn’t known about his attraction already, that sure would have been a hint.

He had only ever felt _want_ like this mid-jerk while watching porn as a teenager. The urge to touch Red, to bite those hipbones, to to lick the fucking sweat off his neck, was almost too much for Mickey to handle.

When Red eventually dropped back down onto the ground and pulled down his shirt Mickey nearly moaned in complaint. But that was probably for the best, he had been dangerously close to getting an erection, he had already felt a twitch of interest. _Down, boy,_ he thought, clenching his teeth as he tracked Red’s movements in the mirror.

How often was Red here anyway? Mickey had only come here three times but all of these times Red had been here too. Was he really that much of a gym freak that he came here _every day_? Judging by his body Mickey would guess that wasn’t completely unlikely.

Red continued to move from machine to machine and Mickey couldn’t help but to study his technique as well as the way his muscles bulged and contracted as he exercised. Mickey knew what Mandy would say, he could hear her stupid voice in his head telling him to just walk the fuck over to him and ask if he could help Mickey make sure he was using the machine correctly and then use that as an excuse to be all over him. That was what Mandy would have done and that’s what Mickey _usually_ would have done as well if he wanted a hot guy’s attention, but his hands started shaking from the mere thought of going over there so he better not. There was also the possibility that Red would recognize him as that rude motherfucker from the other day and say no.   

 _You’re a fucking pussy_ , Mandy told him in his head. Mickey agreed, but it couldn’t be helped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are highly appreciated :)


	3. The Walk of Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit more Mickey/OMC in this chapter, I'm sorry if anyone's not into that but personally I love writing a Mickey that's able to act freely on his sexuality.
> 
> I didn't get the time to edit this as well as I'd have liked, so if there are any odd mistakes or typos in here please let me know.

Mickey wasn’t about to go to the gym during the weekend like some fucking gym freak. Or worse, a perverted stalker. No, he was not, he had that much self-control. He told himself that it was unlikely that Red would be there during the weekend anyway when he had been there so much the rest of the week.

If there was a heaven, they must have heard of his misery up there because Mickey got called into construction work both Saturday and Sunday, making it impossible to go to the gym even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t, because it was the weekend.

On Monday however, he was back at the gym. While just the smell of the place made him uncomfortable, he had to admit it was getting a tiny bit easier to walk in through the doors. Either exposure therapy worked, or it was just the anticipation of seeing Red that made him alright with it.

Mickey got changed in his usual corner but was quick about this time. Red had been here at noon on Friday, hopefully last Monday when he was late was just a fluke and Mickey hadn’t interpreted his schedule wrong.

He didn’t have it wrong. Red was there and was lifting weights again. Mickey managed to get his usual treadmill and spent the next hour in a daze, eyes on Red the entire time.

Mickey came again on Tuesday. He had to know if Red were there more days during the week or just every Monday and Friday, and as Mickey had expected, Red was there, doing his usual routine. Fuck, Mickey thought as he pressed the ‘start’ button on the treadmill. Red was here a lot. Which meant that Mickey had to be too, as much as he could with his jobs anyway.

Oh, Mickey knew he was pathetic and that he should just stop while he still could, but fuck it all, if Red could come here this often and still not look like he was about to drop from exhaustion then so could Mickey. Who knows, maybe he would eventually end up with a body just as killer as Red’s, that would be a nice bonus. 

Mickey spent Tuesday night googling and watching tutorial videos on youtube. If he was going to spend the rest of his free membership month at the gym then he couldn’t just spent it all on the treadmill. Watching Red had been excellent research as well, but Mickey needed to be completely sure he was doing it right if he wanted to try doing the same. Hell, maybe Red would even notice him if he moved around a little and didn’t stay hidden in the same corner all the time. Not that he would know what to do if Red did notice him, but that was a problem for another day.

On Wednesday, walking in through the now familiar doors to the gym made Mickey just as anxious as it had the first day. He had become so comfortable with his treadmill routine that his plans on doing something different today almost made him feel sick.

But he squared his shoulders, kept his head up high, and strolled in as confidently as he could. He had looked at enough pictures, read enough instructions, and watched enough videos to at least not look like a complete loser.

To Mickey’s great disappointment and devastation, Wednesday seemed to be one of Red’s resting days. He wasn’t there when Mickey entered and he still wasn’t there when he left. Mickey jogged for half an hour and spent the next forty-five minutes halfheartedly lifting weights using some of the techniques he had seen Red do in addition to some he had found online. 

When Mickey left, he couldn’t help but feel like it had been a waste of time despite the fact that he had gotten off the treadmill today.

  

* * *

 

Thursdays. Was Red at the gym on Thursdays? Maybe. Mickey would have to check.

Mickey felt both relieved and nervous when he stepped into the gym and found that Red was there. Alright, so, Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. That seemed to be it, if Mickey was to assume he didn’t go in on weekends. Mickey caught himself wondering why an attractive guy like him was always at the gym alone but he figured that, unlike Mickey, he probably had other friends and was here alone because he preferred to work out alone. After all, he always looked so incredibly concentrated.

Mickey decided to run for fifteen minutes on the treadmill as a warm-up before he started doing anything else. It would also calm his nerves a little and he could watch Red in the mirror, which he felt was a lot safer than just simply looking at him head-on.  

Then Red did something that nearly made Mickey trip over his own feet and knock his teeth out against the display. Red had raised his arms and tugged his shirt up over his head, leaving him standing there in just his low-hanging grey sweats.

Mickey clutched the hand grips and shamelessly caressed Red’s body with his eyes. Fuck, those abs were even better than he had dreamed of and he had dreamed about them _a lot_. Mickey would usually scoff at someone just taking their shirt off in public because there’s nothing attractive about being a show-off, but damn. Mickey was breaking a lot of his rules when it came to Red and he hadn’t even spoken a word to him yet.

Mickey couldn’t concentrate on running anymore now with Red strutting around half naked, so he climbed off of the machine, wiped the sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt, and casually walked over to the area Red usually spent most of his work-out in. He wouldn’t ever admit this to anyone but his heart was in his throat. He had no idea where to look because all he wanted was to look at Red, but without the mirror acting as a barrier he felt naked and exposed.

He had to sit down because honestly, he was a little dizzy. That should have been enough to let him know that this had already gone far enough, that he needed to get out of here before he got in too deep, but despite his brain telling him to run, Mickey grabbed a random pair of weights and sat down on one of the leather covered workout benches next to the row of dumbbells.

Right opposite of him, Red was lowering himself down onto the bench press, his legs spread out in front of him. It was one of the sexiest things Mickey had ever witnessed and he watched, slack-jawed, as Red lowered the weight to chest level and then pushed it straight up. It looked heavy, heavier than Mickey could probably lift.

“You using those?”

Mickey jumped and nearly got a whiplash from how quickly he turned his head to see who had spoken to him. It was some guy in white hoodie, one ear plug hanging down his front, the other still in. Mickey could hear some generic pop song blasting out of it.

“What?”

“I asked if you were using those weights,” the guy repeated, sounding impatient.

Mickey narrowed his eyes. “No,” he snapped, annoyed that this dude was keeping him from enjoying Red’s show. “I just got here, pick another pair.”

“Well, you weren’t using ‘em and those are the ones I need.”

Mickey growled and picked up the weights. “I am using them now. Fuck off.”

The guy held up his hands in surrender and put the other earplug back in, wandering off to do something else.

Mickey distractedly started lifting one of the weights, too occupied with watching Red’s muscles shift under his skin to make sure he was doing it correctly. Mickey couldn’t help but to let his gaze travel down to Red’s spread legs. His loose sweats left little to the imagination in that position; Mickey could see the fucking outline of his dick. Fuck

He had a vision of himself sauntering over there and climbing up to straddle Red, right there on the bench. He would run his hands up and down that muscled chest, grinding his ass against his groin, and he’d finally find out what Red's sweat tasted like.

Mickey chewed hard on his bottom lip and shifted in his seat. He quickly realized that he had to leave. He had to leave before the stirring of interest in his groin turned into something a bit more obvious. He was just about to get up when he noticed that Red’s arms had started to shake and he frowned, suddenly worried that Red would accidentally drop the heavily weighted barbell onto his chest and crush his ribs or something.

He shouldn’t have worried though, because Red only did a couple more lifts before he hung the barbell back and sat up slowly. His eyes met Mickey’s and the accidental eye contact was nearly enough to knock all the air out of Mickey’s lungs. As if the inappropriate sexual thoughts weren’t enough Red had to go and do this on top of everything else.

Red smiled and this time Mickey forced himself to smile back before quickly looking away, his cheeks burning and his stomach flipping strangely. Hopefully it would just seem like he was flushed from exercising and hopefully it hadn’t looked like he was grimacing instead of smiling.

That kid was going to be the fucking death of him.

He gave himself a few moments to calm down before he got up and all but ran into the changing room, slamming the door behind himself. Fuck going home to shower, he thought as he wrenched his shirt over his head and threw it onto the nearest bench. He needed a cold shower and he needed it pronto.

The showers were empty. Mickey had found that most of the guys tended to skip showering here, so he hurriedly rid himself of all his clothes and stepped over to the shower furthers away from the doorway. The cold spray felt heavenly on his heated skin and he sighed softly, tilting his face up into the water. He smoothed his hair backwards and just breathed for a while, forcing his body to calm the fuck down.

Jesus. This just wasn’t on. He needed to get over this elementary school obsession. He needed to get laid and a quick blowjob in a bathroom stall wasn’t going to cut it. 

While the shower felt insanely good he didn’t want to stand there long enough for some other douchebag to come join him and make it awkward. He exited quickly, drying himself off with a random towel that hung inside an open locker. Really, if you didn’t want someone else using your shit, don’t leave it lying around.

That night Mickey put on the only nice shirt he owned apart from his waiter outfit, a black button down that he tended to wear when he went out. He was going out and he was going to find someone to take back home and then have the shit fucked out of him and then he would be done mooning over fit redheads with stupid smiles.

He had just made his way down the hallway towards the elevator when he heard a door creak open behind him.

“Hey, going out?” Mandy shouted and Mickey sighed.

Without turning around, he called back at her, “You’re not comin’ with me.”

Mandy all but _whined._ “But I—“

“No.” He turned, pointed at her, and said sternly, “Stay.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m not a dog, asshole. Whatever, have fun going out all by yourself.”

Mickey intended to, but he didn’t say so. He just gave her the finger and then he was on his way.

Mickey had never been to a gay club before he moved to Columbus and his first time in one had been both exciting and terrifying. Mandy had come with him, she had insisted, and Mickey had been secretly grateful. As the night went on Mandy had eventually gotten sick and tired of Mickey hiding behind her in a corner and had bought him a series of shots before she finally managed to shove him towards some guy she deemed good looking enough for her brother’s first male hook-up.

Honestly though, he could have looked like a troll and Mickey still would have been in seventh heaven. At that moment, just the smell the guy standing close to him was overwhelming.

Now, Mickey was fine with going alone. He preferred going alone now, which aggravated Mandy. “I taught you everything you know and this is how you treat me!” she would say, huffing and puffing and pretending to be angrier than she actually was.

‘Everything’ might be an exaggeration, but Mickey would never forget the mortification he had felt waking up extremely hangover one morning, only to remember that Mandy, the night before, had shown him how to deepthroat by using a banana as demonstration.

Not that the knowledge hadn’t come in handy.

Mickey arrived at his usual club at midnight. It was pretty packed for a weekday, full of sweaty writhing bodies. It was a good night to be on the prowl. No longer in the need of liquid courage, Mickey leaned against the wall and scanned the dance floor for someone to his liking.

He didn’t have to stand there for long, soon enough his eyes landed on a tall guy in his early twenties who was dancing with his eyes closed and his head thrown back. Mickey appreciated his long legs and ‘dance like no one’s watching’ moves, as Mandy would have called it.

He watched him for a few more moments, just to see if there was a boyfriend off somewhere getting drinks. He didn’t feel like being punched in the face tonight for hitting on someone else’s man. That had happened once or twice. Seriously, some dudes just need to chill with their jealousy issues.

Three minutes passed and Dancer continued to dance alone. Mickey made his move. He squeezed through the mass of dancing bodies and slid up behind Dancer, pressing his front to his back. Dancer stiffened for a moment, but then relaxed against Mickey, hips still swaying.

Mickey leaned up towards his ear. “You looked so good up here I couldn’t resist,” he breathed and caught himself wondering why _this_ was so fucking easy but just the thought of saying hello to Red freaked him out. Fucking shit, what was his problem? Maybe he was just that self-destructive or maybe he still wasn’t ready to be like _this_ outside of the designated safe environments.

Whatever. Soul-searching later, now he needed to get laid, so he shook it off and grinned when Dancer twisted his arm backwards and curled it around Mickey’s neck, grinding back against him.

Mickey didn’t dance, but he supposed this didn’t count as dancing. All he was doing was hump this guy’s ass while running his hands all over him.

A minute later, Dancer turned around, wrapping both arms around Mickey’s neck. He grinned, apparently pleased with what he saw.

In the flashing lights of the club it was difficult to tell what color Dancer’s eyes were, but they were wide and light, framed by long thick lashes. Mickey would guess that if he got this close to Red he would see light eyelashes, because that was like the carrot top rule, wasn’t it? Maybe green eyes, possibly blue. He needed to find a way to get closer to be sure.

Oh, jesus christ. _Stop._

Mickey leaned up and nibbled at Dancer’s earlobe. “Wanna get out of here?”

He could feel Dancer’s groan vibrate in his chest from where they were closely pressed together. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Oh, British. Nice. Mickey had never fucked a Brit before. He smirked and untangled himself from Dancer’s hold. “My place or yours?”

Dancer hesitated. “Yours, please. Mine looks a mess.”

Mickey chuckled and started towards the exit, expecting Dancer to follow. As if he gave a shit what this dude’s place looked like. Mickey sure as hell hadn’t cleaned his apartment before going out tonight, he never did. If anyone minded then fuck them, he would still get laid.

“So, your name?” Dancer asked once they were seated in the cab. He was drawing circles on Mickey’s thigh with his index finger and Mickey was trying not to get hard in a fucking taxi. When was the last time he had taken someone home? Probably not after Dan, that asshole. Mickey wouldn’t say he’d been _heartbroken_ , because that wasn’t it, but he had been pissed off when Dan had told him they couldn’t bang anymore because he’d found someone who actually wanted to date him.

“Mickey,” he replied and Dancer nodded, presenting him his hand. Mickey shook it, smirking.

“Simon.”

The taxi driver glanced at them suspiciously through the rearview mirror.

“Got a problem?” Mickey spat and the taxi driver looked away quickly and sped up.

“You’re kind of badass, aren’t you?” Simon said in a low voice, sliding closer to Mickey. He stroked his thumb across the letters on Mickey’s knuckles. “I like these.”

“That kinda thing turn you on, huh?”

Simon’s eyes darkened. “Oh, yeah.”

Mickey figured Simon was one of those well off people that liked getting involved with the rough and dangerous types. He could work with that for a one-night stand.

 

* * *

 

Mickey had never really gotten the extreme appeal when it came to accents, but after hearing filthy stuff groaned into his ear all night in that posh English drawl he figured might have to change his mind and admit that it was pretty fucking hot.

When they finally fell asleep around five in the morning Mickey felt sated and deliciously sore in all the right places.

 

* * *

 

Simon was still there when Mickey woke up the next morning at ten. What was he still doing here? It was an unspoken rule that you pick up your clothes and sneak out quietly after a one-night-stand but for some reason Simon preferred making pancakes to the walk of shame.  

Well. Mickey did like pancakes. But that was beside the point.

Mickey stared at Simon groggily from the doorway, his damp hair clearly suggesting that he had taken the liberty to use Mickey’s shower. Fair enough, but he didn’t have to stick around.

He cleared his throat and Simon spun around, a plate of pancakes in his hands. “Oh, you’re up,” he said in a voice much too chipper for someone who had only had a couple hours of sleep. “I made breakfast, I hope you don’t mind.

Mickey did mind, but at least this meant he wouldn’t have to make his own food. So he merely grunted and sat down, stabbing a pancake with his fork and dragging it over to the plate that was already there for him.

Simon hovered awkwardly above him. “Alright, okay, confession time,” he said and slumped down into the chair opposite of Mickey. Mickey stared at him with a raised eyebrow, mouth too full of pancake to speak. “You’re kind of a, well, a rebound.”

Mickey snorted so hard he nearly choked on the pancake. He swallowed it down quickly and gulped down half a glass of milk. “Dude,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t give a shit. That’s why you’re buttering me up like this?”

Simon looked sheepish, shrugging helplessly.

Mickey laughed again. “Oh, good. No, not good as in ‘I’m happy about your misery’ good,” he added quickly when he saw Simon’s questioning stare. “Good as in ‘thank god he’s not some clingy fucker that’s never gonna leave me alone now’. Was kind of worried.”

Simon’s cheeks colored and he ran a hand through his damp hair. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t want you to feel used… You never know, do you? Some get offended when you just leave without saying goodbye.”

Mickey shrugged and slid the plate of pancakes over towards Simon. “Eat. You made ‘em.”

They ate in silence for a while and it was actually kind of nice to have company that wasn’t Mandy.

“So who’s the guy?” Not that Mickey really cared, but Simon was looking so forlornly down at his pancake that Mickey almost felt sorry for him.

“Oh, er.” Simon made a face. “James. He left me just last week. This is my first time out of my dorm since then.”

“Uni?”

“Yeah. Met him in London four years ago and he brought me here and then just fucking—“ He cut himself off and took a deep breath, hands tightening into fists. “Sorry.”

Mickey waved it off. Anger was something that he knew very well. “Just let it out, it’s probably good for you.”

Simon’s eyes actually lit up at that. “Really?”

Fifteen minutes later Simon was miles deep into the saga of his epic love story, starting with a wild romance in London and ending with a catastrophic break-up in the middle of university campus. Mickey listened with half an ear, concentrating mostly on eating, but some parts were interesting enough for him to pay attention to, especially the part where Simon decided to go into detail on how good this James dude was in bed.

Simon ended up in tears and Mickey awkwardly offered him a beer, which he accepted with an embarrassed apology on how he hadn’t meant to cry.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Mickey said once Simon got the waterworks under control. “He sounds like a dick and you deserve better. And if it makes you feel any better about using me, I was kind of using you too.”

Simon’s red-rimmed eyes met his. He seemed relieved. “Yeah?  Someone messed you up too?”

“You could say that. It’s… complicated.” It wasn’t really, but Mickey didn’t want to admit to someone who was practically a stranger that who he had been trying to forget was someone he didn’t actually know. At all.

Simon nodded. “Yeah, always is.” After a glance at his wrist watch he stood up. “I should get out of your hair.” He smiled, the sort of out-of-practice smile Mickey used when he was at work. Mickey felt a little bad for him, poor kid. “It was the most fun I’ve had in a while. Uh, want my number? Not to, y’know, get off again or anything, I don’t think I’m ready for that, but maybe we could be friends? Only if you want to, of course.”

And hadn’t Mickey just the other day thought about getting some friends? Huh, seemed like one had come tumbling into his lap out of nowhere. If only that sort of wishful thinking worked with Red. Maybe if he saw a shooting star he could try that. “Sure,” he said, watching in mild shock as Simon scribbled his number onto the back of an old receipt and laid it on Mickey’s table. No one had ever offered Mickey friendship like this before.

“Call me if you wanna hang out,” Simon said and picked his jacket up from where it had been dropped to the floor last night.

“Alright, see ya.”

Simon left with a wave and a slightly more genuine smile. Mickey almost felt like he had done a good deed, like he actually had the power to brighten someone’s shitty week.

Barely ten seconds had passed after Simon’s departure before Mandy came dancing into his apartment. “Who was the absolute _cutie_ I spied leaving here just now?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows at him.

“Fuck, Mandy, sometimes I wonder if all you ever do is sit right in front of your door so you can listen to my every move.”

“I was getting my mail, we passed each other in the hallway,” Mandy said and elbowed Mickey in the side as she stepped past him. “You had breakfast together!” she squealed happily when she saw the kitchen table. She grabbed a pancake, rolled it up and took a big bite.

“He made me breakfast because I was his rebound after a four year relationship or something. Calm down, Mandy, I’m not marrying the dude.”

Mandy looked disappointed but shrugged it off quickly. “Whatever, your loss, he’s hot.”

“Did you actually want something or..?” Mickey asked, exasperated.  

“Oh, yeah.” She licked sugar off of her thumb and helped herself to another pancake. “I was wondering if I could use the gym card today.”

Mickey froze for a moment before he turned around to dump the dishes in the sink. “Uh, why?” he asked, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. Because it wasn’t.

“I just woke up with this strange urge to go to the gym,” Mandy said, jumping up onto the counter next to him. “Figured I’d take advantage of it before the urge goes away. Were you gonna use it today? I thought you hated it.”

Mickey forced himself not to blush because he _didn’t_ blush goddamnit. Ever. “I do,” he said. Fuck. Sex with Simon had only helped momentarily, now his brain was focused right back on Red. He didn't know what to do, how to get over it, but he had sort of made plans to try and say hi to him today. Just to see what would happen, if anything at all. 

“So you don’t mind if I go today?”

Mickey sighed. “Knock yourself out.”


	4. Winning Instinct

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this as 3AM, so I'm sorry in advance if I missed something glaring, I just wanted to post it tonight as I might have a lot to do tomorrow.

Mickey spent the rest of the day anxious and oddly jealous. If Red was into girls in any way, shape or form it was very likely that Mandy would get to him before Mickey could even pluck up the courage to utter a measly ‘hi’. The mere thought made anger churn in his belly and he had to go out for a run just to avoid smashing his own television.

He might actually lose it if he saw Red come out of Mandy’s room the next morning. Maybe he would punch him, he thought to himself as he ran down the street so fast everything around him was a blur. Punch him and beat him up for sleeping with his little sister. Yeah, that would work. He couldn’t take it out on Mandy but he sure as hell could take it out on Red.

Come Saturday morning Mickey had managed to convince himself that Mandy had fucked Red and he was so angry at both of them that he could hardly think straight.  

Mandy tried talking to him when they both met on their way to the mailbox but he ignored her, much to Mandy’s frustration.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you, dickhead?” she barked at him right before he slammed the door in her face. He couldn’t even look at her without imagining her and Red steaming up the windows in her apartment.

Mickey continued to ignore her and didn’t speak to her at all until he knocked on her door Monday morning, after two days of complete radio silence.

She opened the door and her eyes immediately narrowed dangerously. “Gonna tell me what I did now, assface?”

“Nope,” he grunted and held out his hand, palm up. “Gym card.”

Mandy crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe. “And why should I give it to you? You’re a giant dick.”

“Mandy.” Mickey didn’t have time for her shit, he had to get it today, he only had one and a half week left on it.

She continued to glare but in the end she blinked first and lost their unspoken staring contest, and with an annoyed scoff she turned around and dug through her purse. She threw the card at him. “Let me know when you’re ready to tell me what crawled up your ass and died,” she snapped and closed the door with so much force it echoed through the hallway. 

Mickey trudged back to his own apartment, cursing under his breath. It wasn’t like he _meant_ to be pissed off, he just couldn’t shake the feeling that his sister had gotten her hands something that he really, really wanted and it was shitty as hell.  

 

* * *

 

Mickey’s throat clammed up the moment he saw Red standing there with his weights and his stupid broad shoulders and bulging biceps.

Mickey had started to walk towards him but made a u-turn at the last second, his heart racing so fast he could hear it. Fuck fuck fuck. He couldn’t do it, especially not now when Red might have fucked Mandy.

The next half hour was spent walking miserably on the treadmill, glancing at Red every now and then. He even caught himself glaring at him more than once. _Had_ Mandy slept with him? Mickey wouldn’t be surprised, he had long since come to terms with the fact that he and his sister had similar, if not the same, taste in guys.

He tried to see if Red looked any different, if something about him said ‘hell yeah I banged a chick yesterday’ but he looked the same as ever.

Mickey left after only fifteen minutes, feeling even shittier and like even more of a failure than he had when he arrived.

 

* * *

 

He would have to ask Mandy, he realized this on the way home. He had to ask if something happened on Friday or else he would never get a peace of mind ever again and he would never find it in him to talk to Red. 

He stepped into Mandy’s apartment around ten that evening. She was just back from her shift at the diner; Mickey could tell because she never wore her hair in a knot like that outside of work. Mickey always teased her about it, told her she looked like a secretary.

“Uh, hey,” he said, meeting her hard stare across the room.

Mandy placed a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow, wordlessly urging him to explain himself. Right.

“Look, sorry for being a dick,” he started and walked towards her but Mandy held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Ah, ah. Explain first. What the fuck, Mickey? You pulled the ice queen act on me for no reason, I deserve more than a half-assed ‘sorry’.”

Mickey grimaced. He knew he had been unfair, he wasn’t an idiot, but he wasn’t good at apologies, never had been. “It wasn’t half-assed,” he said, which was true enough. “It’s just… stressful at work.” Maybe he should have told her the truth, but there was just no way. She would laugh and laugh and laugh, so hard she would end up choking and eventually die. So really, he was actually saving her life by lying. “Work is shit and I took it out on you, I’m sorry.”

She considered him for a long while, still suspicious, and Mickey tried to keep his facial expression as open and earnest as possible. Eventually his sister seemed to deflate and she nodded. “Fine, I accept your apology. But if you do it again I’ll kick your fucking ass.”

“Alright, fair enough,” Mickey said, relieved that the most risky bit seemed to be over. She hadn’t seen through his lie yet, that was a good sign. He stepped over to her fridge, delighted to find one of those store bought marzipan cakes in there. He held it up, making pleading eyes at her.

“You don’t deserve it,” was all Mandy said and sat down on the sofa.

Mickey widened his eyes a little more, pushing out his bottom lip.

Mandy sucked in her lips, holding back a smile. “Just _one_ piece _._ I swear to god you’re so fucking ridiculous.”

“You know I’m adorable,” he said, smug, and was quick to grab a plate and cut himself a piece of the cake. He went to join her on the sofa, plate and fork in hand. He dug into the cake, moaning softly around the fork. It tasted delicious even though it was store bought. Come to think of it, Mickey was pretty sure he had never tasted homemade cake before anyway, so he had nothing to compare it with. “Where does this come from anyway?” he asked as he chewed.

“Work. Sometimes we get to take home the shit we don’t sell, this one expired yesterday so we can’t sell it. Don’t worry though, it’s still perfectly fine.”

Mickey just shrugged. He might not have ever had homemade cake, but he had eaten plenty of expired food before. “So how did Friday go anyway?” he asked, trying to make it sound like he didn’t really care and was just making conversation, the standard go-to strategy.  

“You mean at the gym?” Mandy leaned back and pulled her hair out of the knot. It stuck out in odd angles after having been in the same tight position all day. Mickey tried not to laugh at it as she pulled her fingers through it in annoyance. “It was fine, but damn I’m not as in shape as I thought I was.”

Mickey concentrated hard on his piece of cake. “Take anyone home after?”

He could feel Mandy’s eyes on him. “You asking me if I got laid, Mickey?” She laughed and poked his foot with her toe. “Maybe.” She dragged the word out in a way that definitely meant yes. Mickey’s stomach tightened but he tried not to seem too interested.

“Oh?”

“Didn’t take anyone home, but I fucked someone in the men’s bathroom.”

Unwelcome mental images of Red holding Mandy up against the wall as he slammed up into her entered Mickey’s mind and the cake swelled in his mouth. He put the plate on the table, unable to continue eating under the sudden wave of nausea. 

“Good on you, sis,” he said, smirking at her. “You seeing him again?”

“What’s with this sudden interest in my love life? You gonna eat the rest of this?” She grabbed the plate before Mickey could even begin to shake his head. “Is it revenge for me being so nosy about yours?”

“Yup,” Mickey said, going with that. “So tell me _everything_.”

Mandy rolled his eyes but didn’t seem too perturbed about talking about her sex life seeing as she started going off right away. “Well, he was checking me out the whole time so it wasn’t exactly difficult to get him to come with me once I put my mind to it. I haven’t fucked in a bathroom stall since high school so that was interesting..”

None of this information was relevant and Mickey tried not to grind his teeth. He needed to know what he looked like, that’s all he needed to know.

“He had the most gorgeous eyes though,” Mandy continued and Mickey was suddenly paying attention again.

“What color?”

“Huh?”

“His eyes, what color.”

“Uh, blue. Really blue.”

“What, did they complement his hair or some girly shit like that?”

Mandy kicked him in the shin but unfortunately for Mickey she didn’t take the hair color bait. “Shut up, asshole.”

As the night went on and they both had a couple of beers and a couple shots of vodka, Mickey finally managed to get some more information out of Mandy without directing any more suspicion onto himself. The relief that washed over him when Mandy mentioned her conquest’s average height and ‘brownish’ hair made him melt into the sofa.

“Oh, good.”

“Hm? What’s good?”

Mandy was drunk and her head lolled against the back of the sofa, her eyes bright and hooded.  

“Brown hair,” Mickey slurred, emptying his last can of beer, peering into it once nothing more would come out. He let it drop to the floor. “Brown’s good." 

“Yeah,” Mandy agreed through a yawn. “Brown’s good.”

* * *

Mickey was a little hungover the next morning, but he went to the gym anyway. Only to be told by the apologetic lady behind the counter that his free membership had expired. Mickey blinked at her, trying to calculate if yelling would end up giving him a headache or not. “No, it’s not,” he told her, his voice steady this far. “It’s supposed to be a month.”

“The trial period is for three weeks, not a month. I’m sorry. Your last day was -” She looked at the back of the card, “- ah, yesterday. I’m sorry, sir. Would you like to pay for your entrance today, or perhaps –“

Mickey grumbled quietly to himself and fished his wallet out of his pocket. He couldn’t be bothered to start yelling. “How much for one month?”

The woman’s apologetic smile widened to a more genuine one and all but conjured a different card out of thin air. “That’ll be $40 for a month, $170 for six months, and $300 for a year.”

Mickey scoffed and slammed a fifty dollar bill on the counter. “A month is more than enough.” As if he would ever pay fucking three hundred dollars for a gym membership, come on. Would _anyone_?

Forty dollars poorer, Mickey entered the gym more determined than ever. Mickey had never spent this much money on a person that wasn’t family before, he was going to fucking make it worth it.  

But Red wasn’t there. What the actual _fuck_. Mickey looked around desperately but there was no sign of him anywhere.

“You gotta be _fucking kidding me_ ,” he muttered. Even his usual treadmill was taken and he had to use another where he didn’t have a view of the entire room in the mirror. He couldn’t see the door from this one, he wouldn’t be able to see when, or if, Red arrived.

Once again he had to entertain and distract himself with some random girl’s bouncy hair. This one was blonde and her hair was short, it swung around in circles like some mini-helicopter, it was all kinds of amusing. However, she caught him after about three minutes and she didn’t look as amused as that first girl that had caught him had. She glared at Mickey in the mirror and Mickey obediently let his gaze drop to his own feet. There was no point in trying to say he hadn’t been checking her out, she wouldn’t have believed him anyway.

Mickey didn’t look up at her when she stepped off the machine; he had found a nice rhythm where looking at his own old sneakers provided enough repetitive stimuli so that he sunk into some kind of trance. He was going quite slowly today, just a leisure jogging pace, but it felt nice after yesterday’s heavy drinking.

Mickey overheard some dude asking Helicopter Hair if she was done with the treadmill and she responded with a chipper “Yeah, sure!”

Mickey kept looking at his own shoes, lost in thought on why the fuck Red wasn’t here already. Was he late again like he had been that one time previously? Mickey clenched his jaw tight in annoyance and raised his eyes back to the mirror with the intention to scan the room for Red again.

And then he nearly pissed himself.

Red had arrived. But he wasn’t by the weights where he usually spent most of his time, he was _right next to Mickey_ on Helicopter Hair’s treadmill.

Oh fuck. Mickey looked straight ahead into his own eyes to avoid looking at Red for one second longer than necessary and he could read the panic there as plain as day. Red was right there next to him. Why? Why couldn’t he stick to his own corner where Mickey could ogle him safely and secretly?

He dared to take another glance at Red. He was looking straight ahead too, with the same concentration on his face that he always had. He was even more attractive up close, goddamn him. He had a pair of white earplugs in his ears and Mickey caught himself wondering what he was listening to. He also couldn’t help but notice that they were going at exactly the same pace, even their legs hit the belt at exactly the same time.

The simultaneous jogging was distracting and it made Mickey think about what else they could do perfectly coordinated, but more in the ‘thrust and shove’ department. Mickey pressed the upwards arrow on the panel, increasing the pace a little. Don’t think about sex, don’t think about sex, don’t…

In his peripheral vision Mickey saw Red’s arm stretch out towards the panel. He clicked the button twice, sending his running pace _just_ above Mickey’s. Red did this without looking at him so it might have just been a coincidence, but Mickey took it as a personal challenge all the same.

He pushed the button twice as well and his lazy Sunday jog in the park turned into a ‘please don’t let me be late to the bus’ jog.  

He held back a grin when Red, almost at once, one upped Mickey again. Oh, so that’s how he wanted it. It definitely wasn’t all in Mickey’s head; Red wanted war.

Well fine, Mickey was never one to back down and he knew he could outrun anyone, even fit leggy dudes with distracting bodies. He had never seen Red on any of the treadmills before so it was likely he was focusing mostly on the weight training. Mickey knew he got this in the bag, so he upped the pace with another two notches.

He wasn’t looking at Red, but he could still see his head turning towards Mickey, just for a moment. And was that a smirk? Oh shit, this might not end well. A running competition with someone who already made his heart work overtime was probably not the best idea. Especially not with a hangover. But at least Mickey knew how to handle bets and competitions, he did _not_ know how to handle flirting or small talk. This felt like common ground.

They kept one upping each other until they were both sprinting across the belts like a pair of marathon runners both dead set on reaching the finish line first. Beads of sweat ran down Mickey’s neck and his legs were beginning to ache, but he was still good to go. He was motivated when another quick glance Red’s way proved Red was in a similar predicament, his face matching his hair, his forehead shining with sweat. The sounds their shoes made against the belts were loud, they were probably attracting a lot of attention, but Mickey couldn’t give a shit now when he had something to win.

Ten minutes later at the fastest pace the treadmills could go, Mickey’s lungs had started to burn and he was seriously lamenting the fact that he hadn’t invested in a water bottle yet. He stared longingly at Red’s in the mirror and nearly moaned when Red picked it up and swallowed down several large gulps of the delicious looking liquid. Never before had water looked so damn good as it did dripping down Red’s chin right at this moment.

Red looked up and caught Mickey’s eye for shorter than a millisecond. Then he held out his arm towards him, offering Mickey his water bottle.

No way, Mickey thought, his throat suddenly dry for a completely different reason than thirst. He reached out hesitantly and took the bottle. Their fingers brushed against each other and Mickey was thankful for the fact that his face couldn’t possibly get any redder.

The water tasted even better than he could have imagined, ice cold and delicious. He poured it down his throat and all he could think about was that Red’s lips had been just where his were now only a few seconds ago.

He forced himself to stop drinking before he completely emptied Red’s bottle and held it back out to him, staring intently down at the control panel in front of him. Their fingers brushed again and Mickey’s skin prickled and burned where they had touched. He flexed his fingers in an attempt to shake it off.

The water gave him strength to continue, but he was starting to realize he might have severely underestimated Red’s running abilities. He might have found his match, they might end up running until one of them simply passed out from exertion.

Mickey grit his teeth together and tried not to think, tried not to think of his heaving breath or his burning muscles. But try as he might, he was nearing his limit. He threw another look at Red and tried to estimate how much longer he had left in him but the fucker didn’t even look all that affected except for his red face and the sweat running down his neck, soaking the collar of his tank-top.

Fuck this and fuck Red. Mickey’s lungs felt like they were about to give up and his knees were threatening to buckle. He had no idea how long they’d been running but it felt like days. He supposed losing to someone like Red wasn’t too bad, he could deal with it.

The exact the second Mickey made up his mind to wave the white flag, Red reached towards the control panel and decreased the pace until he eventually stopped running altogether. He hunched over, holding onto the handlebars, heaving for breath. Mickey watched him with wide eyes. He had won.

Fuck yeah, he’d won!

Red remained hunched over for a couple seconds longer until he straightened up and wiped his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. Mickey might have been a bit shameless in his staring, eyes zeroing in on the exposed expanses of Red’s stomach, but he was so surprised he’d won that he forgot that he was paranoid about being caught staring. By now he was basically just operating on auto-pilot.

Red let his shirt drop back and looked straight into Mickey’s eyes in the mirror. As if Mickey wasn’t already fucking breathless.

Red smiled, a proper smile with teeth showing, nodded as if saying ‘good game’, and left before Mickey could even think of anything to say.

Mickey jammed his index finger against the downwards arrow and finally the treadmill slowed to a stop. He nearly collapsed to the ground and had to mimic Red’s previous position, holding on tightly to the handlebars as he struggled to get his breath back.

He spent an entire minute like that, eyes closed, breathing harshly through his parted lips. For a moment he was worried he had overdone it and was going to pass out or vomit or maybe both, but thankfully the feeling passed after he got his breathing under control.

Mickey stepped off the treadmill, his every limb trembling. The room was spinning a little, his body reminding him that he had been drinking last night.

He made his way towards the changing room, dizzy, but determined to catch Red before he left. He’d say… something. Tell him he was a good runner, that it was fun, and maybe they could do it again sometime? Yeah, that was good, he could say that. He would act friendly and approachable. It wouldn’t sound like he was asking him out, it would just be asking for a running buddy. Totally friendly. But friendly in a way that it was possible to interpret it differently, if Red wanted to.

Mickey shoved the door to the changing room open, striding in confidently, the words he wanted to say right there on the tip of his tongue.

He walked up and down the changing room twice, scanned the showers, and even checked all the bathroom stalls, before he had to accept that he was too late. He’d missed him.

Mickey kicked the wall, hard. “Fuck!”

Some guys getting dressed over by the lockers eyed him warily.

“What?” Mickey snapped and they all averted their eyes, clearly not looking for trouble. Shame. Mickey would have enjoyed a fight right about now.  

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why couldn’t he have just gone straight after Red, what the fuck was wrong with him? Now he would have to wait until Thursday before he could try again, for fuck’s sake.

The Wednesday following thee treadmill competition was the longest day of Mickey’s life to date. It seemed to drag and drag, it never ended. Every time he glanced at the clock it had only been five minutes since the last time he checked. He was grumpy at work that afternoon and his fellow construction workers caught on quickly and kept their distance. No one wanted to be near him when he was angry, especially not while he was wielding power operated tools.

Not only was he beating himself up over blowing it with Red _again_ , but the intense running yesterday had his muscles screaming worse than last time he neglected to stretch afterwards. All in all, everything was shit and Mickey hated Wednesdays.

The only thing that made him feel better was thinking about the way Red had smiled at him after Mickey won. It made him think that maybe, just maybe, he had a shot. Mickey had never felt this sort of fluttering anticipation before, had never had that whole _does he like me or doesn’t he_ dilemma before, at least not one that mattered. Most often, people just didn’t like him. He wasn’t a likeable person, and he was alright with that most of the time. If he wanted to be approachable then he wouldn’t have tattooed the word ‘fuck’ on his knuckles.

Red might just be the very first person that made Mickey yearn to be liked.

And that, that was fucking scary.


	5. Miss Universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took a while. I stopped procrastinating editing this just so I could procrastinate going to bed. My lectures start tomorrow, yikes.

Mickey caught himself smiling at his fucking cereal. As soon as he noticed he forced his facial muscles to relax and cursed himself. Fuck, this was spinning out of control fast.  

He had dreamed about Red last night. More specifically, he had dreamed that they had dirty, dirty shower sex at the gym and it was the hottest dream Mickey had ever had. He felt like a fucking teenager again because of all the jerking off he did lately.

But today was the day. Today was the day they had a fucking conversation and Mickey wasn’t about to chicken out this time. And even if Red wasn’t into guys, or if he was and just wasn’t interested in Mickey, then at least he had tried and Mickey wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his life thinking _what if._

He wondered what his name was. He couldn’t quite decide what he looked like, but maybe he looked like a Cole or maybe a Jack. No, not a Jack, Red wasn’t a Jack. Mickey had known some Jacks, and they were all assholes. It didn’t matter, whatever his name was, Mickey was finding out today.

“Stop fucking smiling,” he told himself and pursed his lips as if that would somehow remove the remnants of the smile. He stood up, dumping his dishes into the sink. “And now I’m talking to myself. Great.”

* * *

 

He was at the gym at eleven thirty, half an hour earlier than before as Red always seemed to be there when Mickey arrived. He seemed to have hit it right on the hour because just when he stepped into the changing room he saw Red leaving into the gym, the door closing shut behind him. Mickey smiled to himself and changed in a hurry, his fingers fumbling a bit with the shoe laces. He went through the conversation in his head for the fiftieth time since leaving the apartment.

_Hey. Hi. So, the other day was fun. Yeah, it was. You’re a good runner. Thanks, you too. Maybe you wanna run at the park together one day, I’ll race ya? Sure, what’s your number?_

Mickey held back another smile and pushed the door to the gym open, immediately searching for Red and quickly found him over by his usual weights. Today, however, he wasn’t alone. Just like that, Mickey’s mood plummeted and a hard lump settled in his stomach, making his hands shake for a different reason than nerves.

Red was standing there chatting with a tall, slim brunette chick. They were both laughing and the brunette lightly slapped Red’s chest before turning around and picking up a pair of weights. Mickey bit down hard on his bottom lip and turned away, unable to watch the flirting that was clearly going on. He recognized the chick too; it was the one from the first day, the one who caught him staring at her in the mirror and thought he was checking her out.  

Fuck. He shouldn’t be surprised that Red had a girlfriend, he really shouldn’t be. Red was gorgeous, of course he wasn’t single. She was gorgeous too, Mickey wasn’t fucking blind.

When had Mickey managed to delude himself into thinking that maybe things would go his way for once? He looked down his own body, mentally comparing himself. Yeah, there was no way Red would be into him, even if he was into both chicks and dicks. If Miss Universe over there was his type then Mickey could kiss all his chances goodbye. She was tall and leggy, all bright smiles and loud laughs. Mickey was nothing like that. He was the exact opposite of that.

He dared another glare in their direction. Not only was she fucking pretty, she was just so _effortlessly_ pretty. Her messy ponytail and make-up free face should have made her plain, but she wasn’t. It probably also helped that her work-out attire was a skintight pair yoga pants and an equally as tight top that ended right below her tits.

And in spite of all this Mickey couldn’t even hate her, because he had never seen Red laugh before, and he was laughing at her. With her, whatever. She made his entire face light up. Mickey didn’t even want to fuck Red right now, he just wanted to have that laugh be because of him.

He knew he had no right to feel crushed.

But he did.

He debated whether to leave or not. As he stood there wondering, Miss Universe laughed so loudly Mickey couldn’t help but to look over there again.

“You’re so full of shit, Ian!”

They both laughed at whatever was so hysterically funny, but Mickey could only focus on the name he now had. _Ian_. It suited him, it was nice. Short and sweet, easy to moan in bed.

Not that knowing his name was of any use now, Mickey thought sourly and went back into the changing room, slamming the door shut.

* * *

 

What Mickey wanted most of all that night was to ditch his job at the restaurant and drown himself in beer and shitty movies instead, but fuck it, he couldn’t afford to skip the few shifts he had. So at four that afternoon Mickey showed up at the restaurant, didn’t speak to anyone, just grabbed his apron and disappeared out among the guests.

“Hey, Mickey!”

Mickey closed his eyes briefly before he turned around, raising his eyebrows at the kitchen chef, Gloria.

She tapped her round cheeks and made a show of smiling. “Remember?”

Mickey forced the corners of his lips upwards in an exaggerated smile. Gloria laughed and shooed him away, satisfied with his half-assed attempt.

Mickey soon had six tables to keep tabs off and he was slowly losing his mind, but at least a busy shift would keep his mind off of Red – Ian – and his knock-out girlfriend.

“Mickey, can you take table five, please?” Susan, a waitress Mickey miraculously got along with pretty well, said as she rushed past him towards the kitchen, muttering orders under her breath.

“I already have six!” Mickey called after her and looked around for someone else who were free, but all the other waiters and waitresses were running around like stressed little hamsters.  “Fuck it.”

He glanced over at table five and groaned inwardly at what he saw. Six teenage girls, all of them chattering obnoxiously loud amongst each other, were seated around the table. If there was one thing worse than old people who thought he was _adorable,_ it was teenagers. Mickey hated serving teenagers, they were always either too cheery to be normal or just fucking rude as hell.  

He gritted his teeth together and made his way towards the table. “Can I take your order?” he asked, looking them over quickly. What was it with teenage girls and their obsession to look exactly the same? Why did all these girls have the same hairstyle? It was kind of freaky.

The girls looked up at him and giggled. Mickey kept his smile on despite how much it physically hurt him to do so. “Yeah, we’ll have some red wine,” one of them said, batting her fake eye lashes at him, pushing out her chest. He had seen Mandy pull that exact shit on plenty of dudes so many times now that he recognized it for what it was when he saw it. “And we’ll all have the lasagna, we’ve heard it’s _great_ here.”

Mickey held back a sigh and glanced around the room, desperate for someone else to take this table. He knew himself well enough to know he didn’t have the patience for this today. “I’m going to have to see some I.D,” he said. Usually he wouldn’t give a fuck who drank or not, but he had been yelled at several times before for not asking for identification and he wasn’t feeling like a dressing down tonight. But come on, it wasn’t his fault he wasn’t used to anyone actually caring about such a thing as the legal drinking age.  

“Oh, we’re twenty-one,” another girl said, flicking a lock of hair behind her shoulder.

“Yeah, totally,” the first one agreed and tried to subtly pull down the neckline of her shirt so it exposed parts of her lacy bra.  

Mickey was about two seconds away from snapping, so he smiled wider, teeth clenched tight, and said, “I’ll get you all some sodas with your lasagna.” He turned around quickly and walked away before he said something he’d regret.  

Fuck his fucking life. Why was it that underage girls constantly hit on him, or just girls in general, but when it came to guys Mickey always had to be the one to take the first step for anything to happen? He supposed he could go to gay clubs more often, but those places sucked the energy right out of him, he could only stomach it maybe once a month. Wasn’t he sending out the right signals? Maybe he should just put on a rainbow colored shirt and see if anyone (Ian) took the goddamn hint. Maybe put on a cap that said ‘I suck dick’ for good measure. Just to drive the point home.

Mickey knew very well he didn’t come off as gay but fuck, how was he supposed to change that? He was the way he was, and what _was_ a gay man supposed to look like anyway? He certainly hadn’t been able to tell with Ian. ‘Gaydars’ were definitely bullshit, Mickey refused to believe it existed. It was just hit and miss, that’s what it was.     

When he got back to the girls’ table with their food, they seemed to have agreed to drop the pretense about being over the age of eighteen, let alone twenty-one. That didn’t stop them from being annoying though, or from trying to hit on him.

“You know,” one of them started just as Mickey was about to leave. “We might not be twenty-one, but we’re totally legal.”

Jesus Christ. Mickey closed his eyes briefly to summon some patience that might be stored in some small corner of his being. “Good for you,” he said. “Now if you’ll excu—“

“No, wait.” She had the nerve to reach out and grab his arm. He yanked it from her grip but she didn’t seem discouraged. “When do you get off? I could meet you later. My parents are gone this weekend, we could _get off_ , if you know what I --”

“I’m gay!” The words slipped out before he could stop them and it seemed he might have snapped a little louder than he should have. All the nearby tables stopped chatting in order to turn their heads to see what was going on. His face heated up. Oh, fantastic.

He didn’t wait for any reactions, he simply tore his apron off and stormed out, pushing past a slack-jawed Susan. He needed some air.

He paced around the small backyard behind the restaurant. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

There goes that job, he thought to himself. It was just a matter of time anyway, he really wasn’t meant for something that demanded that he smiled and acted pleasant.

Even though he hadn’t gone out of his way to appear straight, Mickey wasn’t out at work. He hadn’t ever lied or anything like that, it had just never come up. He didn’t talk much about his personal life because really, who the fuck cared? Well, now they all knew, and he felt like an absolute moron for having shouted it in the middle of a fucking restaurant. Where had that _come_ from?

Of course, he wasn’t stupid. It was all part of the Ian thing. Fucking Ian. They had never spoken a word and he was already slowly ruining Mickey.

“Need a smoke?”

Mickey whirled around and saw Susan standing in the doorway, a pack of cigarettes in her hand.

Her grumbled a noncommittal reply and she threw one at him, a lighter soon following.

Mickey leaned against the brick wall and lit it up, inhaling the smoke deep into his lungs and sighing at how it immediately calmed him. He could feel Susan’s eyes on him. “Out with it.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Mickey looked over at her. She had lit her own cigarette and had sat down on the stone steps by the door. She was a tiny girl, in every way. Short, slim, even her nose was small and slightly unturned. Mickey had mentally referred to her as Tinkerbell in his head for weeks after he first started until he finally had gotten her name to stick. The fact that she wore her blonde hair in a knot on the top of her head during work did not make her look less like a fairy.

“At what?”

Susan fixed him with an exasperated look. “That you’re gay.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “Really.” It was strange to hear her say that so shortly after having mourned the fact that no one seemed to get it. There had once been a time where he would have punched anyone who called him gay in the face, cute pixie-like face or not, but right now he was relieved. Having to ‘come out’ to people constantly was a draining affair, especially if they didn't get it or had a shitload of questions, like Mickey's brothers. It would be a lot easier if people just _knew_. Knew without having to resort to flamboyant displays of rainbow sweaters and dick hats, that is. “How'd you know?” he added.

Susan blew smoke out of the corner of her mouth and looked him over thoughtfully, her head tilted sideways. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Of course I wasn’t sure, but I thought maybe. I mean, you’ve never slapped my ass or stared at my tits. Or slapped any asses or stared at any tits, as far as I’ve seen.”

“You’ve got no tits to speak of, less than my sister,” Mickey snorted and ducked away from the pebble she threw at him.

“See, you’ve looked, but I didn’t know you’ve looked,” she said. “Straight guys aren’t subtle about it. Plus, your hair’s always nice.”

Mickey, despite his terrible day, laughed. “Oh, right, my hair gave me away, of course.” He crushed his cigarette under his shoe. “The rest of ‘em knew too?”

Susan flicked her own cigarette away and stood up, wiping her hands on her apron. “You barely talk to anyone but me so I don’t think so.”

“Right.” Mickey nodded and shoved his hands down into his pockets. He really didn’t want to go back in there.

Susan hovered over by the door for a moment before saying, “Don’t feel bad about it, okay? It’s been a stressful day, we all have our limits. Go home sick, I’ll cover for you. But just this once, don’t get any ideas.”

Mickey was grateful and even if he didn’t tell her so, she seemed to understand. She smiled at him, the way people didn’t usually smile at Mickey, and went back inside. Mickey was left thinking that maybe he had more friends than he had initially thought.

* * *

 

Mickey found himself barging into his sister’s apartment half an hour later. He avoided her startled “What do you want, douchebag?” and instead went right to her fridge to grab a beer. Mandy waited until he had downed half of it before she tried again. “Alright, now that you’ve raided my fridge, what the fuck? Why are you dressed for work?”

“I think I just quit. Or got fired. I don’t fucking know.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Okay.” The way she said it made it clear she was waiting for him to elaborate.

“I just can’t handle it, I’m not cut out for that shit.” He looked down at his hands, swore, and walked over to Mandy’s sink. He rinsed the cover-up makeup off his knuckles, rubbing until the skin was raw and irritated.

“You need that job,” Mandy said. “Your part-time construction work isn’t nearly enough money. You won’t be able to keep your apartment if you get fired.”

Mickey knew that, she didn’t have to rub it in. He downed the rest of the beer in one go and walked over to fling himself onto the couch next to his sister. He groaned when his aching muscles complained at the sudden movement.

He rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes, but he could still feel Mandy’s eyes on him.

“You okay?” she asked and Mickey heard her fiddle around with the remote. Soon he heard the familiar sound of Marion Kart starting up. That’s how Mickey knew she was preparing to talk. It was much easier to have serious conversations if you could distract yourself with a videogame at the same time, it’s how they had always done it.

“Fine,” he murmured, accepting the controller Mandy handed up.

Mandy hummed and didn’t say anything else. They played a round in silence and Mandy won because Mickey was just too distracted to pay attention.  

“Wanna try again?” she asked and Mickey knew she wasn’t referring to the game, but he started a new one just the same.

“I’m losing my mind,” he murmured, fingers stabbing the buttons on the controller. “Basically just came out at work. It was a fucking accident, I was trying to stop these girls from hitting on me and it just… fuck.”

He could feel Mandy watching him. “Doesn’t sound like something you’d do, even as an accident.”

Mickey made a face. “Suppose not. I just wasn’t in the mood, it slipped out.”

Mandy turned her eyes back to the television and blindly reached out to pat his thigh briefly. “Did anyone give you shit for it? That why you left?”

“Nah. Nothing negative. Didn’t really give them the chance to. There’ll probably be some if I go back.”

Mandy nodded in understanding and they played quietly for a while before Mandy spoke up again. “So this sulking is because of your job?”

Mickey was torn between wanting to tell her and definitely _not_ wanting to tell her. Mandy was the only person he could talk to about this shit, but the problem was he wasn’t any good at these kinds of talks. He was terrible at it and made his skin crawl with unease. He could talk to her about sex, briefly, if he had to. Or if he was drunk. Anything even slightly deeper than that was mortifying. _Feelings._ Nothing good had ever come out of that, he was sure Mandy would agree, she didn’t have the best relationship track record either.  

Before he could make up his mind on what to tell her, Mandy hit the nail right on the head. “This about a guy?”

Mickey’s fingers slipped on the controller, allowing Mandy and several others to zoom past him.

“Woah, careful there,” Mandy laughed. “You don’t want me to win again, do you? Now tell me, since I was clearly right, do I need to knock on someone’s door with a baseball bat? This about the cutie you banged the other day?”

Mickey almost flushed. He didn’t want to admit that his problem wasn’t some guy he was dating, or even some guy he was just fucking, that had screwed him over. “No, it’s just… If you laugh I’m going to kill you in your sleep. I mean it. Dead serious, Mandy.”

Mandy glanced at him, one eyebrow arched high on her forehead. “Alright, I won’t laugh.”

Mickey didn’t believe her, but fuck, he needed to vent. The conversation didn’t have to get deep, he just really, _really_ needed to rant at someone that wasn’t a restaurant guest. “It’s someone at the gym.”

“I figured,” she said and cackled when Mickey hit a banana peel. He swore loudly. “You’ve been going there a lot lately,” she continued once he got his car back on track. “I kind of put two and two together. You fucking some gym freak?”

“Yeah, there’s not really that much fucking going on,” Mickey murmured, his stomach twisting at the mere thought of getting into bed with Red. With Ian.

“That’s the problem?” Mandy drove across the finish line and Mickey threw away his controller in defeat. “I’ve never really had that problem very often, guys are usually the first to initiate sex. Is he looking for something more serious maybe and that’s why he won’t put out yet?”

Now Mickey was really embarrassed. “Please, don’t laugh,” he said mournfully, and picked the controller back up again just so he could have something to fiddle with. “I sort of haven’t, well, I don’t…” He groaned. “I haven’t talked to him. Or done anything really. Don’t laugh,” he said again, his voice low in warning.

Mandy didn’t laugh, but he could tell by her body language that she wanted to. He started a new game but she paused it and turned her entire body towards him, her eyebrows completely disappeared beneath her bangs. “My dear brother,” she started, disbelief dripping from her tone. “Are you telling me you’re crushing on someone _from afar_?” She slapped him across the head, hard enough for his ear to start ringing. “What the fuck? Since when is Mickey Milkovich scared to talk to anyone? You’re twenty-two years old, Mickey, what are you doing? Do you at least know his name?”

Mickey swore and rubbed his head. “ _Yes_ , fuck. Jesus. His name’s Ian. But the only reason I know that is because I overheard his fucking knock-out of a girlfriend say it. I’m fucking pathetic, alright, I know, you don’t have to tell me.”

Her face softened. He didn’t know what was worse, her incredulous disbelief or her sisterly pity and sympathy. “Well, that doesn’t mean he has to be straight,” she said. “Did you see him kiss her?”

“No.” Mickey shrugged. “But I didn’t have to. He’s gorgeous and she’s gorgeous, why wouldn’t they be dating? And she laughed like he was the funniest guy ever, all flirty and shit.”

Mandy poked him in the side with a long-nailed index finger. “You’re jealous.”

“Fuck off.” He refused to look at her, but she was smiling triumphantly at him. Not that she deserved a fucking medal for arriving to that conclusion.

“If you didn’t actually see him kiss her or do anything couple-y, how can you be sure they’re not just friends? This ain’t the eighteen hundreds, Mick, men and women can be friends. Why can’t you talk to him and figure it out?”

Mickey groaned and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He let his body fall against the back of the couch. “I just got the couple feeling, alright? And I’m not gonna talk to him because I fucking can’t. Especially not now, I’m all psyched out. He looks at me and I want to run in the opposite direction. We had this, like, ‘moment’ or whatever the other day and – shut up!”

Mandy had accidentally let an amused snort slip out and she was quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, but it didn’t help because her eyes continued to shine with amusement.

He narrowed his eyes at her but continued anyway. “Whatever. And I thought he might be flirting with me or something, but now I think he was just being friendly. I wouldn’t know what to say, especially not now when I know he’s not single.” He paused, then added, “I fucking hate guys. They’re fucking confusing as fuck.”

Mandy _cooing_ was definitely worse than her disbelief and pity combined and Mickey reached out for her chest, ready to titty twist her so hard she would regret making fun of him, but she jumped out of his way and settled down on the armrest, out of his reach. She continued to grin. “You’ve got a proper crush, don’t you?” she said and kicked out with her leg, poking him in the thigh with her toe. “Not just the I-wanna-fuck-that-guy crush, but a total tongue-tied-walk-straight-into-a-glass-door crush.” She considered him for a moment, lips pursed, before she added, “Take me with you next time, I gotta see him.”

“Oh fuck, no,” Mickey said at once, shaking his head hard. “No, no, nope, not happening. No.”

“Come on, please? I’ll be your wingman!”

“Nooo!” Mickey waved his hands in front of himself. “I know you, you’ll stare at him and grin and make it super obvious that you’re staring and then, just because that’s my fucking luck, he’s gonna come over and talk to _you_ because he thinks you’re flirting and that’s what guys do when they see you. And then I’ll jump out the fucking window. So no, you’re not coming.”

Mandy pouted and looked, possibly, a bit offended. “I’d never steal a guy from you. I won’t talk to him, I just want to see him.”

“What for?”

“Because!” She scoffed, as if the reason was obvious. “I wanna know what kind of guy could turn my badass big brother into a blubbering mess. What’s he look like? How old is he?”

Mickey groaned miserably and covered his eyes with his hands, pressing his palms into his sockets until brightly colored spots appeared. He never should have started this conversation, what was he thinking? He should have foreseen this outcome. “His face fucking haunts me, what do you want me to say? Fuck if I know how old he is, could be anything between eighteen and twenty-five.”

“I’ve got to see this boy wonder.” Mandy said it like it was some kind of final statement and Mickey knew she would come with him whether he wanted her to or not.

But fuck if he was just going to give in so easily. Before she could react he grabbed her by the ankle, tugged her down from her perched position on the armrest and proceeded to secure both her legs tightly in his lap before attacking the soles of her feet with relentless tickles. Mandy screeched and laughed all at once, squirming and swatting at him.

“Say uncle!” Mickey called over her hysterical laughter.

“U-uncle!” Mandy gasped, hitting Mickey repeatedly over the head with a sofa cushion.

Mickey let her go and she immediately pulled her feet up under herself, gasping for air, tears of laughter running down her face. Mickey couldn’t help but to smile at her, the way he did every time he saw her laughing. She deserved to fucking always be laughing, even if she was a little shit.

“So you’ll let me see him?”

Mickey sighed heavily. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope.”

“Fuckin’ hate you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The burn is still slow! Not long now though, I promise.


	6. You And I Collide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took a while, I've been busy with studying.

Mickey was still pissed when he woke up Friday morning. Talking to Mandy had helped a little though, at least it was out in the open now. The first step is to admit you have a problem, right? Mickey had done that. Now he just needed to get the fuck over this stupid thing. So Ian had a girlfriend, so what? It wasn't any of Mickey's business. 

Mickey had for some stupid reason agreed to let Mandy come with him to the gym. But not before making her swear on everything she held dear that she wouldn’t say a single word to Ian. Or do anything that attracted attention or would make him suspect what Mickey thought of him. She had promised she wouldn't, albeit reluctantly, and that was how the Milkovich siblings found themselves standing together in a gym surrounded by the type of people they (usually) couldn’t stand and never would have associated with in any other situation.

Mickey knew that Mandy found it just as awkward as he did, so he quickly ushered her over to the treadmills, pointedly not looking at Ian so she wouldn’t put two and two together just yet.

“This your spot?” she asked. “I can see why, you creep on him in mirror, don’t you?”  She waggled her eyebrows at him.

“Careful or I won’t tell you who it is,” Mickey warned and stepped onto his usual machine. Mandy took the one next to his and gathered her hair up into a ponytail.

“I wanna guess,” she said as she started up the treadmill, choosing a fast walking pace that Mickey copied. It was much easier to talk when you weren’t gasping for breath and Mickey knew Mandy was looking to talk, not actually exercise. Fuck her. Since when did they have these girly conversations? Fucking hell. If his dad could see him now. 

“Fine,” he sighed. “Guess. But no staring. And don’t point.”

“I’m not a child, Mickey, I know not to point. Alright, hmm, let’s see…” She scanned the people in the mirror and Mickey tried not to look at Ian. He was there with that stupid girl again, his girlfriend or whatever. Mickey clenched his teeth and tried to push down the irrational jealousy. “Okay, that one?” Mandy interrupted his darkening thoughts with a subtle nod towards the left. Mickey followed her line of sight to a guy with similar body build to Ian’s, but maybe even taller and with slightly tanned skin and deep dark eyes. He was clearly very attractive and Mickey wouldn’t exactly have said no to someone like that.

“No, but good guess. He’s not bad.”

“ _Not bad_? Fuck, I’d climb that like a tree.”

Sometimes Mickey wondered if he should remind Mandy of the fact that she was his little sister and he did not want to think about her _climbing_ anyone.

Mandy pursed her lips and her deep concentration would have been hilarious if Mickey wasn’t stressing out over the fact that Ian was currently showing his girlfriend how to properly lift the weights, his hands all over her arms and shit.

“Him?” Mandy nodded subtly towards another reasonably attractive guy with half-long blonde hair. He was way too ‘beachy surfer’ looking for Mickey’s taste though.

“Nope. You kind of suck at this, and here I thought you knew me.”

“Shut up. I bet it’s that guy.” Mandy pointed (fucking _pointed_ , just to be a bitch) at a gangly, pimply teenager with long greasy hair and giant headphones perched on his head. He was doing the most half-hearted unmotivated crunches Mickey had ever seen in his life.

Mickey didn’t even dignify that with an answer, he figured giving Mandy the finger was enough.

Mandy quietly observed the room for a moment longer until she started slapping Mickey’s arm with the back of her hand. “Oh, oh, oh, I’ve got him!” she said and her smug grin didn’t lessen when Mickey sent her a warning glare.  

“Do you mind keeping it down?” he hissed, glancing around.

“ _Him_.” Mandy smirked like she knew she was right, and when Mickey followed her gaze to Ian he had to hand it to her. Right on the third try wasn’t bad considering how packed the gym was this Friday.

He nodded, averting his eyes, and Mandy squealed quietly in triumph. “Oh la la,” she said once Ian started lifting weights, his girlfriend mimicking what he was doing. “I can see what the deal is. He’s cute in that kind of boy next door type of way. They’re usually the ones who are really wild in bed.”

Mickey cleared his throat, willing his sister to please shut the fuck up about what Ian might and might not be like in bed.

“And you always did have a thing for redheads.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “What? No, I didn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever even _known_ a redhead, except for that one girl in elementary school but we both know that wasn’t happening.”

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten? You had that crush on, oh what’s he called, that actor.” When Mickey’s eyebrows only continued to rise on his forehead she snapped her fingers, impatient for the name to come to her. “What’s his name, shit. The Harry Potter guy, don’t you remember? It was the, what, fourth or fifth movie? That’s when I first suspected you were into guys. It was really cute.”

Now when she mentioned it, Mickey could remember a brief period in his life where he had watched one of those films quite a lot because of that guy. He forced himself not to be embarrassed because if Mandy thought Mickey didn’t know about _her_ embarrassing childhood celebrity crushes then she was sadly mistaken. “I don’t think it was specifically because of his hair color, Mandy,” he replied, glancing at Ian.

“What was it then?”

“Fuck if I know,” he snapped, done with this conversation already. “I was a kid.”

Mandy let it drop and increased the pace of the treadmill. Her hair swung back and forth and Mickey reached out and swatted at it but quickly drew his arm back when Mandy turned her head at lighting speed and bumped his arm with her tongue.

“Ew, gross!” He was about to wipe his arm on his shirt but changed his mind and wiped it off on the back of Mandy’s instead.

“Okay, but real talk,” Mandy said after two minutes of blissful silence and her eyes traveled over to Ian in the mirror. Here we go, Mickey thought, now she was going to scold him again for being lame and a loser, and she would no doubt try to convince him to talk to Ian even though she could very well see he was there with a chick. “Real talk, Mickey, because this is just embarrassing.” She looked over at him sternly and Mickey braced himself for the judgment. “You cannot, you simply _cannot_ , be paler than a redhead.”

Mickey stared. “What? Am not!”

“Are too! What’s he gonna say if you hook up and sees your pasty-ass skin next to his? He’s gonna think you’re some no-life shut in vampire who never sees the sun. Oh, wait, you are.”

“Shut the fuck up. It’s not that bad.”

“Oh, it is that bad,” she said, laughing. “At least he has an excuse."

"Not my fault I don't fucking tan."

"Still. It's pretty embarrassing." Mickey glared at her and she changed the subject with a smirk. Fucking sisters. "But that’s his girlfriend then? You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure, yep.”

“Sucks. She’s pretty.”

“Told you.”

“Looks older than him though, doesn’t she?”

“A bit, I guess.” Mickey shrugged. “So what? Is that not allowed in a straight relationship? You guys are fucked up.”

Mandy rolled her eyes. “I don’t know though, maybe she’s his sister?”

Mickey snorted. “Yeah, right. They look nothing alike.”

“I suppose so. Still, you never know though, right? Not until you-“

“Ask,” Mickey finished through clenched teeth. “Yeah, I know. Shut up about it and gain some muscle in those twig legs of yours.”

“Asshole.”

“Bitch.”

* * *

 

The weekend passed by in a blur of work and late nights playing video games with Mandy. He still had Ian on his mind. Ian and his fucking girlfriend. He just couldn’t get them out. It wasn’t like he could just stop going to the gym either, not now when he had _paid_ for another month with his own hard earned money that he hadn’t even scammed or stolen.  

The only appropriate thing to do, he figured, was to get revenge. In other words, making himself feel better by getting even. Yeah, fuck it. He had nothing to lose, and even if Ian wouldn’t notice, at least Mickey wouldn’t feel like a complete loser.

He picked up his phone and dialed one of the few contacts he had saved.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, uh, it’s Mickey. I don’t know if you remember, you uh –“

“Mickey!” Simon sounded delighted, which calmed Mickey a little. He felt less stupid about calling him now. “Of course I remember, I didn’t think you’d call after I didn’t hear from you the first couple of days. How’s it going?”

Mickey paced around his room absentmindedly. He didn’t like phone calls, he much preferred texting. However he had had a feeling a call would be more polite after such a long period of silence, so it would just have to do. “Good, I guess. You doing anything today?”

“No,” Simon said and it sounded like he was smiling. “What’s on your mind?”

“Wanna join me at the gym? I’ve been going lately and company could be… nice.”

“Sounds fun!” Simon said at once and it sounded genuine, like he actually thought it would be fun. Mickey caught himself wondering why someone as bubbly as Simon would want to hang out with someone as dark and moody as himself. “What time?”

He felt bad about using Simon again, but at least that wasn’t a complete lie. Having someone else there to talk to, who wasn’t his sister, who could distract him, probably _would_ be nice. Ian wasn’t the only one who had someone he could take to the gym, a ‘date’ or whatever. Not that it was a date, but whatever. Mickey wasn’t a complete loser and he was going to show him.

“Eleven thirty okay?” he suggested. “We’ll meet up there.”

“Perfect. How about lunch after?” Mickey hesitated and Simon caught on quickly because he added, “Or not,” in a just as bubbly voice. “That’s cool. I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay. Yeah. Bye?”

“Bye-bye!”

Mickey hung up. He would never get used to having friends that actually gave a shit and didn't just hang with him because he had good weed. 

* * *

 

Simon stood waiting outside the gym when Mickey rounded the corner to the building. He glanced at his watch, but he wasn’t late, he was exactly on the dot.

“You been waiting?” he asked and couldn’t help but smile a bit at how happy Simon seemed to be to see him.

“Ah, no, not long,” Simon said and bumped his shoulder before they walked together into the gym. “I just had nothing else to do I started walking a little early.”

"Right. Well, I'm almost always late and never early, just so you know."

Simon grinned. "Noted."

They changed quickly, Simon slipping into a pair of black track pants and a shirt with a hand-print on each side of his chest with the words ‘In case of emergency place hands here’. Mickey took one look at it and burst out laughing.

“Seriously? I mean are you shitting me with that?”

Simon looked down at his shirt and grinned. “It was the only thing that was clean,” he said, placing his hand on his hip as if daring Mickey to mock it some more and Mickey raised his hands in defeat.

Simon took a quick look around the changing room, as if making sure they were alone. “So Mickey,” he began, “Why am I really here?”

Mickey faltered and turned around to fiddle with his gym bag, pretending something was off with the zipper. “What d’you mean? ‘Cause I felt like company.”

“Okay, but what other reason is there?” Mickey glanced at Simon, feeling guilty, but he didn’t read anything on his face that would indicate that he was offended or otherwise annoyed. “Who am I here to make jealous?” When Mickey paled, Simon laughed at him and ran his fingers backwards through his hair and for some magical reason his hair remained in that position after he removed his hand. “C’mon, I wasn’t born yesterday. You call me out of the blue asking me to the gym? I ask myself ‘why the gym, why not not for lunch or something?’ and then I remembered you’d mentioned a guy and that it was ‘complicated’. I figured he’d be here and you want to put on a display.” He grinned. “Am I right?”

Mickey spluttered, his hands curling and uncurling at his sides. “Yeah, alright, Sherlock Holmes,” he muttered and started towards the door. “Just come on.”

“At least nod your head in his direction so I know,” Simon whispered when they stepped through the door, glancing around curiously. “Is he gonna come over? I’m not gonna get punched in the face, am I?”

Mickey shook his head with a snort. “No.”

“Ouch. Totally frozen out, huh? Don’t worry, if he’s still got any feelings for you at all I’m going to make him regret ignoring you.”

Mickey groaned. “Look, just –“ He cut himself off when he saw Ian, once again using the bench press that had made Mickey severely dizzy the last time he witnessed it. “Okay, yeah, him,” he murmured, turning around so he wasn’t facing in Ian’s direction anymore and inclined his head towards him. He noticed with a sinking feeling that Ian was alone today, the chick wasn’t with him. But then he reminded himself that he shouldn’t feel bad for having brought Simon. Hell, Ian didn’t even know Mickey existed. This all was just evidence of Mickey slowly losing his mind, coming up with schemes that didn’t even matter because the other person simply didn’t care if Mickey saw other people or not. Mickey was completely irrelevant to Ian.

Fuck, he was insane.

Simon craned his neck past him, his eyes lighting up when he saw Ian. “The redhead?”

Mickey nodded minutely, ears growing hotter by the second. Thankfully Simon had tact enough not to stare for a prolonged period of time and quickly brought his attention back to Mickey.

“Alright then. Let’s just do what you usually do and see if he catches on.”

Mickey, pleasantly surprised that Simon didn’t ask any pressing questions that would make the situation obvious (Mandy could use a lesson from him), showed him over to the treadmills. “You good to run?”

Simon nodded. “Yeah, for a while, at least. Oh, your ex finished with the bench press, he’s – no!” He quickly grabbed Mickey’s chin and stopped him from turning his head towards Ian. “Don’t look, he has to think you’re over him, yeah? Be strong.” He slowly get go of Mickey’s chin and Mickey, obediently, didn’t look towards Ian even though he was desperate to. “Good. He’s looking over here.”

Mickey’s eyes widened and he resisted an almost overwhelming urge to turn around to see whether Simon was fucking with him or not. “What?” he asked instead, his back and neck prickling.

“I think it’s working. Play along,” Simon said and ran his fingers down Mickey’s arm and laughed, as if Mickey had just said something funny even though he hadn’t said anything at all.  

Mickey twitched. “Hey, don’t…” He glanced around, instantly paranoid. He continuously had to remind himself he wasn’t in the south side anymore, that a couple random people in the gym wouldn’t give a shit if a guy touched his arm. And even if they _did_ give a shit they wouldn’t stab him for it or go after his family, the worst they could do was glare and murmur a couple of slurs. But some things were harder to let go of than other things, the apprehension was ingrained in him and he hated it.

“It’s alright, no one else is looking,” Simon said, but stopped touching him. “Except him, of course.”

“He’s still looking?” Mickey was confused, he had never seen Ian look at him before, and as much time as Mickey spent watching him he would have noticed by now if Ian had a habit of doing so.

“Sure is,” Simon said, delighted. “He’s trying to be inconspicuous about it.”

“Fuck.” Mickey’s face was glowing hot and he stepped with slightly trembling legs onto the treadmill. Could Ian be interested after all? Or was he simply looking because he thought it odd that he was here with a dude? Was it disgust instead of interest?

Simon took the treadmill next to his and when Mickey looked up into the mirror, Ian was turned away from them. “You sure he was actually looking?” Mickey asked, his voice low and hushed so no one else would hear.

“Positive.”

Mickey watched Ian’s back as he lifted weights. He was usually turned towards the mirror, but today he wasn’t. Could it really be? Was he avoiding looking at them?

“Right.” Mickey was confused. “What kind of… I mean… what kind of look was it?”

“Hmm. Not sure. King of intrigued? Like he knew he shouldn’t stare but couldn’t keep his eyes off you?”

Shit. Maybe Ian wasn’t disgusted, maybe he really _was_ interested. Was Mickey supposed to do something? Like, go over there? But no, just because Ian happened to look at him for a couple seconds didn’t mean he wanted his dick. Mickey wasn’t that fucking arrogant. “So anyway,” he continued, clearing his throat and focusing on Simon instead. A bit more conversation couldn’t hurt if he wanted to test his theory about Ian further. “How did it go with _your_ ex?”

Simon made a face and ran his fingers through his hair again. “Yesterday I threw all his shit out of my dorm room,” he said with a one-shouldered shrug.

“Sucks.”

“It’s alright. Well, not really, but we’d been on the rocks for a while.”

“Fixing it completely out of the question?”

“I think so. No, yeah, it’s definitely out of the question. It just wasn’t working.”

Mickey glanced up in the mirror quickly before reaching out to rub Simon’s shoulder. Simon’s eyes were glassy when he smiled at Mickey and he figured he wasn’t meant to comment on that, so he didn’t. He retracted his hand from Simon’s shoulder before it lingered there too long. 

Mickey was surprised to see that Ian left only half an hour later. Simon read his confusion on his face and elbowed him in the side. “Go after him?”

Mickey shook his head. “Nah, I… I don’t know.”

“C’mon, c’mon,” Simon said and all but pushed Mickey off the treadmill. He stumbled and had to steady himself on the handlebar. “Go after him, talk it out.”

“Fuck.” Mickey shifted his weight from one to the other and stared miserable at the changing room door. “Fuck, fuck, okay. I’ll do it.”

Simon gave a little whoop and hit him hard on the back. “Go get him, tiger!”

“Not so loud!” Mickey hissed, glancing around, before laughing when Simon pushed him again. “Yeah, I get it, I get it. I’ll go.”

He took a deep breath and made his way towards the changing room, his stomach twisting and turning so hard he thought he might vomit. His hands were so sweaty that his grip on the door handle slipped. He cursed to himself and pushed the door open, wiping his palms on his pants.  

The room was empty except for a guy that seemed to be soon on his way out and Ian, standing over by a bench digging through his bag. He had taken off his shoes and pulled a plaid shirt out of the bag just when the door clicked shut behind Mickey. Ian didn’t turn, he just tugged the t-shirt he was wearing up over his head and slipped on the plaid shirt.

Okay. Mickey could do this. He pushed his chest out and strode over to his locker, just behind the bench Ian was facing. He unlocked it noisily, attempting to attract attention, and made a show of checking his phone that he kept in his jacket pocket in the locker.

He heard Ian turn around and his stomach tightened with the awareness that Ian was watching him, standing right there behind him, so close Mickey could smell the faint cologne he was wearing.

He pretended to send a text, clicking his thumbs across his phone for the realistic amount of time for a quick text, and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. He locked up the locker and turned around, praying that Ian would still be facing him but at the same time fearing it, because what the hell would he say if he was?

Ian was watching him. He stood there with his shirt unbuttoned, his eyes digging into Mickey’s and for a moment Mickey forgot how to breathe, forgot he needed oxygen to live because in that moment all he needed was Ian looking at him like that, with his bright eyes slowly darkening.

Mickey knew lust when he saw it, and recognizing it for what it was sent hot electric bursts through his body.

The eye contact lasted just until the door clicked shut behind the other guy, then Mickey dared to smirk, just a little.

And that was it. Before he could even take another breath, Ian had him pushed against the locker so hard it rattled, his body covering his, his hands resting on either side of his head. And then they were kissing. It was a brutal, demanding kiss that forced a moan out of Mickey’s throat as he finally did something he had wanted to do since he first laid eyes on Ian; he pushed his fingers into that soft, red hair, giving it a good tug. His remaining hand made good use of itself trailing up and down Ian’s muscled torso. Just touching him made heat flare up in his groin.

Ian’s hands were all over Mickey’s, his face, his hair, his sides, his ass. Ian’s lips were soft and pliant beneath his, but the way he kissed was anything but. He was forceful like a hurricane and Mickey could do nothing but hold on for the ride, arching against the hard planes of his body. 

Mickey definitely got the feel that Ian could, and would be willing to, throw him down and fuck him into the mattress. Oh fuck, Mikey could feel Ian’s half-hard erection pressing against his own and he swallowed a pathetically desperate whimper, tightening his fingers in Ian’s hair and pushing their hips together. It didn’t even occur to him that they were in a very public place until Ian abruptly pulled away and jumped off of him. Mickey was left leaning shell-shocked against the locker, lips swollen and his hair a standing up every which way, feeling like he had just had the fuck of his life even though no clothes had come off. He was about to ask what the fuck was up with the stopping, but that’s when he saw the two guys that had just entered and the words died in his throat.

Fuck. Mickey straightened up and pulled his shirt down from where it had been pushed halfway up his torso and patted his hair back into position. He thought he saw Ian smirk as he threw on his jacket and left with a meaningful glance Mickey’s way.

Mickey sat down onto the bench, numb and over-sensitive all at once. Ian had kissed him. Holy shit, Ian had kissed him. Practically dry-humped him. Ho-ly shit.

He sat where he was for several long moments, waiting for his dick to calm the fuck down before he could go back into the gym. He wasn’t in the mood to run anymore, mostly he was in the mood to scream his victory from the nearest roof top.

Simon stared at him with knowing eyes when he returned five minutes later. “Told you it’d work!” he said, laughing, and reached out to smooth Mickey’s hair down for him. “You look a mess. Did you figure something out? I didn’t think you’d be back, especially not if you hooked up."

Mickey grinned sheepishly and licked his bottom lip. He could still taste Ian there. “We made a deal to talk later,” he lied. “For now we just –“

“Made out?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Simon flung an arm around his shoulder and Mickey was in too good of a mood to shrug him off. “Celebratory coffee? Come on, please, humor me. I’ve been dumped, you’re getting back together with your ex, I need some positivity in my life. You’re my current inspiration. Have a coffee with me and then I promise I’ll stop being annoying.”

Mickey couldn’t refuse, simply because of the irony that _Mickey_ for some strange reason was Simon’s positivity in life. That was just unheard of. 

“Yeah, alright.”

“And you’ll tell me all about it, of course.”

“No, I fucking won’t.”

“Oh fine, grumpus. C’mon, let’s go.”


	7. Rock You Like the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long, I'm so behind on my MA thesis it's scary. I wrote most of this tonight and now it's 4 AM so I hope it's okay. Phew.

Mickey was giddy. His lips tingled. He wanted to scream from a roof top but here he was, sitting in a small coffee shop with Simon. He had agreed to it, but it was damn hard to concentrate on anything he was saying when all he could think about was the kiss in the locker room.

They didn’t talk about Ian during their coffee/lunch thing, of which Mickey was eternally grateful. His web of lies was already getting out of hand, he didn’t want to have to add to it just to make himself seem like less of a loser.

Simon, as opposed to Mandy, was nice enough to let any subjects that he could sense Mickey wasn’t comfortable with drop. Instead, Simon was content with sipping his latte while talking about himself, which was just fine by Mickey because he just had to nod at all the right places.

He talked about growing up in England, what the differences between here and there were, and what about America confused him the most when he first arrived. It was actually kind of hilarious, and Mickey found himself relaxing and even let himself laughing at a couple of his silly jokes about Americans and their “strange way of life”. Eventually almost forgot about the kiss.

Almost.

“So, do your parents know you’re…” Mickey trailed off, gesturing towards Simon.

“Gay?” Simon finished for him with a small smile. “Yeah. They’re cool with it. Yours?”

Mickey shrugged and swirled the spoon around his second latte. “Not cool with it, let’s just put it like that.”

Simon nodded. “My ex’s parents aren’t either,” he said. “They disowned him when he told them he was seeing me. It put a strain on us but we got past it.”

Mickey figured he had been disowned too; the words ‘you’re not my son’ would often start ringing in his head when he felt like shit. But the disowning wasn’t that bad, not really. It was actually a bit of a relief, because his dad was a grade A dick and Mickey (and Mandy) had never felt safe living under the same roof as him. No dad was better than a shitty dad as far as Mickey was concerned. “Yeah. Me too,” he said, downing the rest of his drink in one smooth gulp.

“I’m sorry,” Simon said. “I used to tell him – James, I mean -- good riddance. You don’t need that kind of negative energy in your life. Just forget those people exist and move on.”

Mickey found himself smiling at him. “Where were you when I was growing up?”

“In London.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. 

* * *

 

Mickey was surprised to be called into work at the restaurant Tuesday morning. He had just sort of assumed he’d been fired after he blew up in front of everyone and their mom last week. So he was confused, pleased, but also kind of pissed. Working today would mean he couldn’t go to the gym and if there was ever a day he desperately wanted to go to the gym, it was today.

His boss called him into her office and fixed him with a stern glare and made it clear that she didn’t care what his sexual orientation was as long as he didn’t scream about it while people were trying to eat their dinner in peace. Mickey said nothing, just nodded, and was grateful when she didn’t drag it out any longer than necessary.

He was in a strange mood the rest of the day. Kind of in a haze, replaying the kiss again and again. At least he didn’t have to try so hard to smile at the guests, it kind of happened on its own.

But also, fuck. Tomorrow was Wednesday, Ian’s resting day and thus also Mickey’s, because he was a fucking creep but at least now it was sort of mutual creeping. Who made out with a guy you had never said a word to?

Two days without seeing him. The universe was cruel. 

* * *

 

Meanwhile at the gym, a certain redhead stared forlornly towards the treadmills. 

* * *

 

‘Dazed’ was still the correct word to describe Mickey’s state of being when he came home from work that afternoon. He kept smiling, kept licking his bottom lip, kept imagining that he could still taste Ian there. He had tasted amazing. His hair had been so smooth; Mickey wanted to feel those soft strands in between his fingers as Ian moved on top of him.

He scrubbed the make-up off his knuckles, smiling like a moron.

Fuck, this whole thing was making him strangely energetic. He dried off his hands and looked around the apartment for something to do. His eyes fell on his discarded gym bag in the corner of the living room. He stalked over to it and emptied it onto the floor, snatching up his t-shirt and sweat pants. He might as well wash them, even though Mickey rarely ever bothered washing pants because pants don’t get dirty unless you spill something on them. He went into the bathroom and threw both items into the washing machine. Just to be safe. He didn’t want to accidentally smell like a hobo the next time he saw Ian. Hopefully by then his tongue and vocal cords would work.

Stepping back out of the bathroom, Mickey went to kick his empty gym bag into his room (Mandy hated it when his stuff was spread out over their shared space), but he didn’t get that far before he saw something on the floor that seemed to be a folded post-it note. The fuck had that come from, Mickey didn’t even own post-it notes. Only nerds needed post-it notes. He abandoned the idea of cleaning up and instead picked up the note and unfolded it.

Mickey stared blankly down at it. There was a string of numbers, a phone number, followed by a message written in a messy scrawl.

_Want to do something other than watch me work-out? Call me, x_

\-   _You know who_

Mickey was pretty sure Voldemort hadn’t put that note into his gym bag, so there was only one person _you know who_ could be. His insides twisted violently and his face broke into a grin. Ian must have slipped it into his gym bag right before Mickey had stepped into the locker room. The thought that Ian had actually written a note pre-kiss that he had planned on slipping him was all but mind-blowing to Mickey.

He had his phone in his hand before he could even consider it, but right after punching in the number he stopped. What would he say? He hadn’t even heard Ian’s voice before, only a murmur from a distance. And Mickey already hated phone calls, so the odds for this being awkward as hell were high.  

He took a deep breath and quickly pressed the call button, placing the phone up by his ear before he could change his mind. His legs took him on a several strides through the apartment as he waited for someone to pick up. He looked into the fridge twice, for no fucking reason, and was on his way to open the window, because he needed some fucking air and this was taking way too long (was Ian asleep maybe?), when a voice sounded from the other end.

“Hello?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.                                                                                          

Mickey hung up.

He swore. He couldn’t call back now, that would make him seem like an idiot. He couldn’t ever call back again, Ian could recognize his number.

He fell onto the couch, dropping his face into his hands, rubbing until his skin turned raw. Once again he had managed to make a complete fool of himself, this was the smiling incident all over again. Just because he couldn’t –

His phone rang. Mickey peeked through his fingers. Oh, shit, it was Ian calling him back.   

With a hand that trembled a little, Mickey picked the phone up and accepted the call. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing would come out, it was like there was a hand around his throat squeezing his windpipe. Fucking phones. Fucking Ian.

“Hello?” It was Ian’s voice. It had to be. Fuck, it was nice, deeper than he’d imagined it to be. Mickey’s stomach swooped.“Is this you?”

Mickey finally managed to find his voice. “Who’s ‘you’?”

He could hear the slight smirk in Ian’s voice the next time he spoke. “The guy from the gym. It is, isn’t it? It’s you?”

Mickey stood up and began pacing again, too restless to sit still. “So what if it is?”

Ian chuckled and Mickey tried not to shiver. “Well, it’s nice to finally hear your voice. What’s your name?”

“Mickey,” he replied gruffly. This wasn’t so bad after all. It would have been worse if this whole introduction thing had happened face to face because Mickey would’ve been forced to look into his eyes.

“Hi, Mickey. I’m Ian.”

Mickey barely caught himself before he could say ‘I know’. Better not let on to what a fucking stalker he was if he wanted a chance at all. “Nice.”

_Nice._

Mickey banged his forehead against the living room window.

“Yeah.” Amusement laced Ian’s voice. Fuck him for sounding so relaxed when Mickey was about to pace a hole in the floor. “You’re a good kisser.”

Mickey’s ears heated up and he pulled away from the window. “Uh, thanks. You too.”

They were silent for a while and Mickey wanted to scream from the awkwardness, but thankfully Ian picked the conversation up again before he did just that. “Didn’t think you’d call,” he said. “When you didn’t show at the gym today I thought maybe I’d freaked you out. Thought maybe I’d read the signals wrong.”

Ian had waited for him at the gym. Mickey needed to sit down. “Wasn’t freaked. Just had to work.”

“Cool.” Ian sounded relieved.

“Yeah. Pretty smooth, by the way. With the note in my gym bag.”

Ian snorted, almost like a giggle. “Well, actually I slipped it into the back pocket of your pants while I groped your ass.”

Mickey had to laugh at that. “That’s even smoother. Not bad.”

This was good. Almost easy. What had he been so afraid of? He was such an idiot.

“So, Mickey,” Ian continued, still somewhat laughing but his tone changed once he went on.  “I’ve been thinking about that kiss ever since yesterday,” he confessed, voice smooth, like fucking silk in Mickey’s ears. “You wanna get together sometime?”

And just like that Mickey’s palms were sweating again. He wiped them on his jeans. He could only utter a weak, “Uh.”

“Yeah. Only if you want to,” Ian added hurriedly. “I mean…” And finally Ian sounded awkward as well. A tad bit insecure. It actually made Mickey feel better, like they were on a more even ground. “Obviously just ‘cause you find me attractive doesn’t mean you’d want to go out with me…”

Mickey weighed the pros and cons. Going out with Ian could potentially be very dangerous, judging what Mickey already felt for him. _Felt for him_. For fuck’s sake, how had this happened? To _him_ of all people?

Maybe he shouldn’t freak out too soon though. His crush was superficial at most, it was possible it would disappear once he met Ian for real, maybe they wouldn’t click at all and end up going their separate ways.

Calmed by the possibility that this wasn’t as serious as it seemed, Mickey nodded to himself, his mind made up. After all, he was pretty much dying to get his hands on this guy. “Sure,” he said, playing it cool. “When and where?”

“Oh! Well, um, there’s a bar just down the street from the gym, you seen it? We could meet up there tomorrow night? Say, like, at eight?”

“Yeah, alright.”

“Great. It’ll be fun.”

Mickey nodded, before realizing Ian couldn’t see him. He cleared his throat. “So why’d you do it? Kiss me.”

Ian hummed. “You’ve been checking me out. Right?”

Mickey already knew that Ian knew, from his note, but hearing him say it made him want to sink into the floor. “Uh, yeah, kind of. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for.”

Mickey pulled his fingers through his hair. “Was it obvious?”

Ian hummed. “Not really. Not at first. I didn’t really notice until my sister pointed it out to me. I mean, she’d already told me over a month ago that there was a guy who’d been staring at me the whole time but when she described you to me I couldn’t remember seeing you.”

Mickey flushed again. Go figure. Unmemorable. Bland. Invisible. As he’d feared.

Ian continued talking. Mickey was starting to realize he was probably the chatty type. “She told me she thought you were hitting on her at first, she thought she caught you staring at her tits, but then you spent the rest of your work-out session looking at me or something? According to her. I’m just telling you what she told me, I swear I’m not arrogant or anything. Anyway, she said she’d probably imagined you checking her out.”

Oh. _Oh,_ Miss Universe was Ian’s _sister._ Mickey grinned at the realization. Mandy had been right. “Well, that’s fuckin’ embarrassing.”

“Hey, I’m flattered. And I think you’re hot too so it’s not like I was horrified when she pointed you out to me.”

Mickey wasn’t used to this. He was used to flirting, sure, but what threw him for a loop was how this particular flirting made him feel. It was weird. This must be what made teenagers scribble their name with their crush’s surname tagged onto it all over their text books. It felt good and terrifying all at once. Speaking of. “What’s your name? Like, last name.”

“Oh, sorry. Gallagher. You?”

“Milkovich.”

Mickey braced himself for the inevitable ‘where’s that from?’ and the following ‘you speak any Ukrainian?’ but it didn’t come. Instead, Ian made a thinking noise before saying, “Milkovich. Any relation to the Milkoviches in Chicago south side? It’s just, your accent, and you don’t hear that name a lot.”

Mickey froze like a bucket of ice water had been dropped onto him. Was Ian fucking south side? No fucking way. No. He was done with that part of his life, there was no way in _hell_ –

Ian interrupted his internal battle as if he could feel how tense the silence had gotten. “I’m sorry, I… I understand if you don’t wanna talk about it. And why you wouldn’t wanna.”

“You Frank Gallagher’s kid?”

“Yeah. Well, sort of. My real father’s actually not south side, not anymore, and he took me in when I was thirteen. Guess that’s why I don’t really remember seeing you, when I was a kid I mostly just hung out with my brother… Shit, I’m rambling. Sorry.”

Mickey hadn’t really gotten much of that, he was too busy freaking out. “Fuck. Your family still there?”

There was a pause before another quiet “Yeah.” And then, as if Ian could read his thoughts, he added, “Don’t hang up. If it makes you feel better I can pretend I don’t know anything about it. Do you still wanna go out?”

Yes. No. Fuck. Mickey leaned his forehead against the cool windowpane again. If he went out with Ian Gallagher how fast would it get back to the south side? To his family? No one was supposed to know where they were, they were basically in hiding, both him and Mandy. He sighed heavily. “I don’t know, man. I’m here for a reason, y’know.”

He could all but hear Ian nodding. “I get it. I wouldn’t tell though. Maybe mention it to my sister, because she kind of set us up, but she wouldn’t tell anyone else.”

Mickey knew he shouldn’t trust that, but fuck, he couldn’t be scared of his family forever. At some point he would just have to say screw it and live his life, and right now his life included going out with Ian fucking Gallagher (and hopefully get fucked by him after). “Alright, fine.”

“Yeah?” Mickey decided he liked Ian’s voice all perked up and happy. “You’ll go out with me?”

Mickey tapped his fingers against the window, eyes following a girl walking a freakishly large dog. “Yeah, man. Fuck it.”

“Fuck it,” Ian agreed with an audible grin.  

“There’s a chick outside walking her pet polar bear.”

Making Ian laugh became Mickey’s favorite thing to do right then and there, as he knew it would.

“Take a picture for me.”

“Nah, they’re gone now.”

“Too bad. Do it next time.”

“Alright.” Mickey chewed on his bottom lip, smiling. “Well. See ya tomorrow?”

Ian grinned audibly. “See you tomorrow, Mickey.”

They hung up and Mickey let out a huge breath, deflating completely. He sank down onto the couch, waiting for an acceptable time to go to bed so it would just be tomorrow already. He only forced himself to stop smiling when Mandy got home from work two hours later. 

* * *

 

Mickey Milkovich had a date. An honest to God _date,_ not just a promise of a fuck. Though hopefully there would also be some fucking.

He played with the idea of going to the gym even though he knew Ian wouldn’t be there, just to have something to pass the time with, but he pushed the thought out of his mind pretty quickly. He wasn’t about to go through that whole ordeal if he couldn’t watch Ian while he did it.

Mickey absolutely refused to fuss about what he was going to wear. He picked the first decent shirt (that was clean) he could find and the black jeans he used for his job at the restaurant. If Ian thought he looked hot in the ugliest sweat pants in existence then Mickey felt pretty confident about not spending an hour rooting through his closet. He was already nervous enough, he didn’t need to add clothing related panic on top of it all.

He did his hair the way he usually did, but he did add a little bit of extra cologne. Just in case Ian wanted to get close.

Oh, please get close.

When Mickey got to the bar it was eight o’clock on the dot and the first thing he saw when he opened the door was Ian Gallagher, sitting over by the bar, tapping his fingers against the dark wood. Mickey hoped that meant he was nervous too, because Mickey’s entire body was screaming at him to run.

But fuck it.

He drew himself up to his full height and walked over there, emitting a confidence he didn’t actually have. Fake it ‘til you make it, or some shit like that. “Yo.”

Ian turned around on his stool and his face broke into a grin so devastatingly beautiful that Mickey almost keeled over. The eye contact was perhaps even worse than the grin and he numbly shook Ian’s hand when Ian suggested they should greet each other properly. He kicked himself into gear before Ian could begin to wonder if he was having a stroke. “Hey.”

Ian squeezed his hand. “Hi.”

Mickey tried to subtly wipe his palms on his jeans when he sat down on the stool next to Ian’s. “What’re we drinking?”

Ian gave him a little smile and waved the bartender over. “A beer for my friend here.”

Mickey pretended to be fascinated by the bartender pouring his beer. The alternative was to either look at Ian or stare down at the bar top like an idiot, so that seemed like a fair solution. He could still feel Ian’s eyes on his face, he could only trust that the lights were dimmed down enough for Ian not to see him flush.

“Here you go.” The bartender slid the beer over to Mickey, accepted Ian’s money, and disappeared to the other end of the bar.

“You didn’t have to pay for that, man,” Mickey said, taking a deep swig in the hopes that getting tipsy would calm him the fuck down.

“I asked you out, it’s only fair that I pay,” Ian said with a one-shouldered shrug and Mickey glanced over at him. He wondered whether he was wearing that t-shirt on purpose, the way it clung to his frame and showed off his biceps was enough to give Mickey a nosebleed. And he was so close. Mickey could literally reach out and grab him if he wanted to.

Mickey’s eyes snapped back up to Ian’s face when he heard Ian clear his throat loudly. “Sorry, what?”

Ian smirked at him. “I just said, you can pay for the next drink if you want to.”

“Right.” Mickey buried himself in his beer again, this time emptying nearly half the glass in two long gulps. _Change the topic, change the topic, steer the attention away from your depraved self_ … “So what’re you doing here then? In the city, I mean.”

“Honestly?” Ian shrugged again, still smiling but no longer smirking like the Cheshire cat. “I closed my eyes and pointed at the map. Well, a certain section of the map, it’s not like I could afford to travel halfway across the country.”

Mickey’s eyebrows rose up on his forehead. “The fuck,” he laughed. “And what if you’d pointed somewhere in the middle of nowhere? Were you gonna build yourself a little cabin and hunt rabbits or what?”

“I admit to have done it a few times until I landed on a decently populated place,” Ian said, somewhat sheepishly.

“Hey, no judgment.” Mickey nudged Ian’s glass with the brim of his own and Ian seemed pleased, lifting his glass his lips.

“So, I just have to ask,” Ian said, placing his beer back onto the bar. Mickey met his eyes and tried to hold them without freaking out. “You’re single, right?”

Mickey let go of an involuntary snort. As if he’d ever been anything but. The closest he had ever been to not being single was Dan, the steady fuck-buddy a couple years back. “Free as a bird.”

Ian’s smile turned all but predatory and Mickey would be lying if he tried to claim his pants didn’t get a smidge tighter. “So you’re not seeing that girl? Or the guy that was flirting with you?”

“What girl – _Mandy_?” Mickey’s dick did a u-turn and nearly crawled up into his body. “Fuck, man, no, that’s my sister. And the guy was just a friend.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Friendly friend.”

Well, we were trying to make you jealous, so… Mickey cleared his throat and downed the rest of his beer. “He’s like that.”

Ian seemed reassured by that and scooted his stool closer. Very subtle. But good. At least one of them had balls.

“I like your tattoos,” Ian said, fingers trailing over Mickey’s fingers where they were still gripping the empty glass.

“Home made.”

Ian smirked. “I can tell.”

“Hey!” Mickey cracked a grin. “Asshole. My cousin would take offense.”

The closer Ian got the more Mickey’s heartrate picked up and his dick soon forgot about the mental image from before. Ian had just placed a hand on Mickey’s thigh, just by the knee, nothing scandalous, when some asshole across the bar decided that enough was enough.

“’Ey, _homos_! The fuck outta here!”

Both Ian and Mickey’s heads snapped in the direction of the voice and Mickey automatically went into survival mode, flinching away from Ian and balling his hands into fists. His eyes automatically scanned the bar, mapping where all the possible exits were.  

Ian, on the other hand, was the image of cool and collected. He looked at the guy, a middle aged dude with a beer belly the size of china, with a cold stare. “Problem?” he asked, and if Mickey hadn’t been so on edge he would have drooled at the danger in his tone.

The guy didn’t seem to have prepared himself for such a response and he blanched. “Yeah!” he said after a few short seconds. “Yeah, I do have a—“

“No brawls in my bar,” the bartender said, sounding bored and sick of his life as he wiped glasses in the background. “No homophobia either. You can either not look or go home, Roger, we’ve been over this and over this and over…” His voice ebbed off into a mutter.

The guy, Roger, huffed loudly, muttered something about ‘fuckin’ queers’ but went back to his beer. Mickey knew alcoholics well enough to know that not even a looming apocalypse would stop them from drinking.

Ian thanked the bartender, who only nodded at him in way of response, before turning back to Mickey. Mickey didn’t have to look at him to know he was concerned. “You okay? We can leave.”

He was grateful to find that Ian left some distance between them now, probably sensing his discomfort. “Where?”

“Do you dance?”

Mickey’s eyebrows climbed towards his hairline. “You wanna get me to dance you need you buy me at least ten shots first.”

Ian jumped down from the stool, went to offer Mickey his hand but thought better of it and shoved it into his pocket instead. “Will do. Let’s go somewhere we don’t need to worry about fucking assholes!” His voice rose on the last two words and he shot a dirty look at Roger, who gave him the finger, pointedly not looking at them.

They left the bar and caught a bus to what Mandy liked to call Queer Central or, alternatively, ‘Mickey’s Hunting Ground’. Once they stepped off the bus Ian walked closer to Mickey, their hands brushing. Mickey didn’t do anything to stop it, he had long since learned to lower his shoulders in this area.

“Did you know this is one of the country’s gayest cities?” Ian asked as they walked past bar after bar decorated with rainbow flags and other sparkly shit. “And still you can’t get away from those fuckheads.”

Mickey did, in fact, know that. It might have factored into their decision making when he and Mandy decided to move away. “Yeah. Is there even anything open now? It’s Wednesday. Might have to wait for the weekend if you wanna dance, Red.”

Mickey saw Ian smile from the corner of his eye. “There’s one place that’s open every night. Come on.” He grabbed Mickey’s wrist, pulling him along impatiently.

Mickey found himself missing the touch once they made it to the club and Ian let go, his wrist tingling.

It wasn’t too crowded and they were inside after only a minute or two of standing in line. “I’ll get you that shot,” Ian said with a wink and left towards the bar. Mickey watched him walk away appreciatively. Bless whoever invented tight jeans.

It only took three shots of vodka for Ian to be able to pull a semi-reluctant Mickey onto the dance floor. Sure, he didn’t dance, but _as if_ he would say no to an excuse to grind up against Ian.

And that was exactly what they did. The minute they got onto the floor, Ian grabbed Mickey by the hips and pulled him flush against him, prompting a startled yelp to spill from Mickey’s lips.

Ian laughed, guiding Mickey’s hips from side to side. The music was a cheesy thumpa-thumpa that made Mickey’s insides vibrate, and soon Ian was rolling his body into him like Mickey was some type of human strip pole. He clutched onto Ian’s muscular shoulders, watching him with wide hungry eyes and a rapidly growing erection.

He ground back against him, grinning when Ian grabbed his ass to force their groins even closer.

They were chest to chest. The room reeked of sweat and alcohol and the flashing lights kind of made Mickey dizzy, but he was half-convinced that every bad thing that had happened to him in his life was now worth it just because of this moment. Ian’s face flashed red, blue, purple, each color highlighting something new and different on his face. Mickey couldn’t look away.  

The thumpa-thumpa changed into another one just as cheesy. Mickey’s moan when Ian ground his thigh against Mickey’s cock thankfully drowned in the music.

_I want you in my bed in a minute flat_

Their eyes met and judging Ian’s smirk they had the same exact thought. Mickey smirked back at him, sliding a hand down Ian’s back to grab his ass in return, the other one curling around Ian’s bicep. Oh yeah, something had to go seriously wrong tonight if Mickey didn’t end up getting laid.  

Ian’s hands moved up from Mickey’s ass and up across his back, feeling him up, pressing Mickey against him with a broad hand between his shoulder blades. He leaned in close, his mouth by Mickey’s ear. His breath alone made Mickey moan again. “I forgot to say,” he said, his lips moving against the shell of Mickey’s ear. “You clean up nice.”

Mandy would piss herself laughing if Mickey ever told her such a cheesy and overused line worked on him, but fuck did it work. His legs turned to jelly and he had to grab tighter onto Ian for support.  

_Oh, the world ain’t endin’ but it might as well be_

Ian pulled back and kept moving his body against Mickey’s and Mickey couldn’t help notice that the guy actually had rhythm, which was quite sexy and definitely not something Mickey had. If he fucked like he danced then Mickey was in for a damn good ride.

He was suddenly thankful for the fact that he’d jacked off so often lately, because if not then this might actually have made him come in his pants like a randy teenager. At this rate Ian could turn Mickey into a very big fan of clubs and dancing.

Their eyes were still mostly locked but Mickey couldn’t stop himself from glancing down at Ian’s lips, subconsciously wetting his own. His heart thundered in his ears so loudly it nearly overpowered the music. He looked back up at Ian. There was a challenge written in his eyes now.

_Make your move on me_

Done.

Mickey surged up, grabbing the back of Ian’s neck and pulling him down into a forceful kiss that actually _did_ drown out the music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't heard about it yet please consider joining the forum's [Valentine's day fic challenge](http://w11.zetaboards.com/ShamelessForum/topic/10891333/1/) :D There's a week left until the deadline, but I haven't started writing yet either, so you can do it. And this is my [tumblr](http://mickmilkowitch.tumblr.com) if anyone's interested.


	8. A For Effort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took forever, but I've finally handed in my MA thesis. SWEET FREEDOM!

Mickey leaned heavily against Ian, gazing up at him through hooded lids. “How can someone as pretty as you be single?” he wondered, his words slurring together.

They were sitting on a small love seat in the back of the club, squashed into a corner. In the opposite corner two guys were making out as if their lives depended on it. Mickey wanted to kiss Ian as if their lives depended on it. He stared, transfixed, as Ian brought his gross fruity drink up to wrap his lips around the straw. He was grinning, as if he knew what he was doing to Mickey just by existing.

“Seriously,” Mickey said, poking Ian’s side. “How?”

“Haven’t really met anyone I like yet,” Ian replied, placing the glass between his thighs, drawing Mickey’s attention to his groin instead of his lips.

“If you’re picky what the hell are you doing out with me?” It was a genuine question, and Ian seemed to pick up on that because he tipped Mickey’s chin up.

“You’re hot as fuck,” he said, his expressive eyes boring into Mickey’s, his words equally as slurred. “And you’re kind of… homely. Y’know? You remind me of back home. It’s nice.”

“That’s the first, and probably only, time anyone will ever call me ‘homely’.”

Ian flashed him a bright, drunken grin, and patted his thigh with more force than necessary but Mickey wasn’t complaining. “Want me to call us a taxi?”

Mickey blinked. “Where? You leavin’?”

Ian wrapped a hand around the back of Mickey’s neck, stroking the hairs there. “We’re going home to yours,” he said, voice low and alcohol laced. Then he seemed to catch himself and added, “If you want to, of course.”

If he wanted to! That stupid fucking… Mickey pressed forwards, crashing their lips together almost painfully, but he was too drunk to care about finesse. He didn’t even feel his nerves anymore, it was great. “Hell yes,” he rasped, sliding a hand up Ian’s thigh. “Fuck yeah, do it. Now.”

Ian fished his phone out of his pocket and hauled Mickey upright. They both swayed and had to grasp a hold of each other for balance.

“Woah,” Ian laughed, hands on Mickey’s shoulders. “You never know how fucking pissed you are until you try to stand up. Okay, you steady?”

Mickey carefully let go of Ian, testing his balance. “Yup. ‘M good.”

Ian downed the last of his fruity drink and pulled Mickey with him outside so he could call for a taxi somewhere he would be able to hear.

Ian stood with his arm wrapped around Mickey’s waist as they waited for the car, and Mickey could only lean into it, sighing blissfully every ten seconds or so. Occasionally he’d turn his head slightly so he’d catch a whiff of Ian’s aftershave. Because that wasn’t creepy at all.

Apparently he wasn’t being as subtle as he thought. Ian turned his head and grinned down at him. “Are you smelling me?”

Mickey faltered. “Uh. Yeees?”

Ian giggled, tickled by that, and snuck his thumb up under the back of Mickey’s shirt, right above the waistband of his boxers. He stroked the skin there in small back and forth motions and goddamn it, if the taxi hadn’t pulled up just then Mickey would have gotten down on his knees for Ian right then and there.

* * *

 

“Hey, we—we gotta be – ow, fuck.” Mickey tried to stifle his laugh as his back collided hard with the door knob 

“Sorry,” Ian murmured, but he didn’t sound sorry at all. He crowded Mickey up against the door and kissed him, holding his face between his large hands while Mickey clutched at the back of his tight shirt.

“Mmh, let me just…” Mickey pulled away and shoved a hand into his pocket, fumbling for the key. He turned around and made an attempt at unlocking the door but missed.

Ian chuckled and pressed his front against Mickey’s back, rolling his groin against Mickey’s ass. “How’s it going there?” he asked, pressing a kiss below Mickey’s ear, which did _not_ help his concentration the slightest.

“I can’t – fuck!” Mickey tried to steady his shaking hand but he kept missing the key hole. “Stop laughing,” he hissed at Ian, trying to ignore the kisses on the back of his neck so he could concentrate. “My sister lives right there and we gotta, ah, we uh – gotta stay quiet.”

Mickey swore loudly when the key missed the target yet again. Ian seemed to take pity on him because he wrapped both his hands around Mickey’s and guided the key into the hole and they both let out a loud whoop when the lock clicked open.

“There you go,” Ian breathed and they stumbled into the apartment with hushed laughs, Mickey twisting around in Ian’s arms so he could kiss him again.

He kicked off his shoes and Ian followed suit before he began to yank at the buttons on Mickey’s shirt. Mickey barely knew what was going on but soon enough his shirt was on the floor and Ian was asking him where the bedroom was. Right. Mickey’s cock twitched to life at the mere thought of finally having Ian on him.

“Just through here,” he murmured, walking backwards, pulling Ian along with a hand around the back of his neck, the other already tugging his belt open.

They fell onto Mickey’s bed with more stifled laughter. Mickey all but yanked Ian’s shirt up and off, drooling at the sight of his half-naked form from where Ian was straddling his thighs. Mickey didn’t waste any time before putting his hands on him, sliding his palms across Ian’s abs and chest.  

He looked up only to find Ian grinning down at him. “Be honest with me, how long’ve you been wanting to do that?”

Mickey pulled Ian down and hissed into his ear, “Too long. Now fuck me, Red.”

Mickey’s jeans disappeared in a blur and the next time Ian pressed their lips together they were both in their underwear, squirming against each other. Mickey noticed he still had socks on and he was about to voice his concern about that when Ian began to trail kisses down his chest, sucking on his skin sloppily until he reached the waistband of his boxers.

Who the fuck cared about socks anyway.

“Oh, fuck,” Mickey breathed, legs spreading on their own accord. He tipped his head back, staring up at the ceiling, and caught himself wondering why it felt like the bed was spinning.

Ian’s hands slid up Mickey’s thighs and his eyes fell shut in bliss.

Too bright.

Mickey groaned and buried his face into the pillow, desperate to keep the light out of his eyes. It was way too fucking early for –

Mickey shot up in bed, blinking rapidly at the sunlit room. He whipped his head towards the clock on the nightstand, the motion making a wave of nausea crash over him. 7:30.

Mickey looked around. The room was empty. He reached out towards the spot on the bed next to him, sliding his hand across the mattress. Cold.

_Shit_.

He fell back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, mortified beyond belief. He was pretty sure he hadn’t dreamt last night. No, he hadn’t. He hadn’t, right? He went through everything that had happened; the bar, then the club, then the make-out session on the dance floor, then pulling Ian into bed with him.

Yeah, he was pretty sure he had taken Ian home and that he hadn’t imagined it. Ian had been here, in his bed. He peeked under the covers, just to make sure, and yup, underwear still on. Didn’t even get to second base. Ian, his ultimate wet dream, had been inches away from having his mouth on his cock and Mickey had fallen the fuck asleep like an ungrateful little bitch.

He could kiss Ian goodbye now. No one liked to be fallen asleep on.

He allowed himself a few more minutes of crippling shame and embarrassment before he rolled out of bed. There was one thing he was one hundred percent sure of, and that was that he was never, ever, _ever_ , setting his foot in that gym again.

Who falls asleep during sex?

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered to himself, ready to drown his hangover with some more alcohol, and pushed open the bedroom door, stumbling into the hallway towards the kitchen. He nearly had a heart attack when he saw someone standing there, head deep in his fridge.  Unfortunately it wasn’t a tall sexy redhead, instead it was a tiny annoying brunette.

“The fuck, Mandy!”

Mandy’s little yelp would have been hilarious if Mickey hadn’t been in such a foul mood. She turned around, hand over her heart and her eyes as wide as dinner plates. “Jesus, Mick! I thought you were in the shower!”

“The fuck are you doing here?” he grumbled, making his way over to pull a bottle of beer out of the fridge, but Mandy snatched it from his grip before he could open it.

“I don’t think so, you reek of alcohol already. Here.” She took a glass from the sink and filled it with water, shoving it in his face. “Drink this instead.”

Mickey didn’t have it in him to argue, just downed the glass in two gulps. Admittedly it felt better than a beer would have. “Still haven’t said why you’re in my fridge at seven thirty in the morning like some petty thief.”

“As if you’re never in my fridge looking for things to scavenge,” she said, rolling her already made up eyes. Must be on her way to work then, there were no other reasons why would make Mandy wake up and get ready this early in the morning.

He decided not to answer that though, because that would mean owning up to all the beers and cookies and tiny bits of cheese he had stolen during their time as neighbors.

He was about to walk over to refill his glass with water when he noticed Mandy giving him a strange look, one eyebrow raised and a curious waiting smile on her lips. He was defensive instantly. “What?”

“I thought you were in the shower.”

Mickey gave her a suspicious glance before he made his way back towards his bedroom. “So?"

“ _So_ ,” Mandy emphasized, and Mickey could _hear_ her fucking smug smirk, “If you’re not in the bathroom then who is?”

Mickey whirled around, eyes wide. He was just about to say he couldn’t hear jack shit from the bathroom when, lo and behold, Ian Gallagher comes stepping out in nothing but his boxer briefs, his hair still wet and dripping onto his naked shoulders.

Mickey froze, jaw dropping open, and glanced between Ian and Mandy in quick succession.

Ian had frozen as well at the sight of Mandy standing in the kitchen grinning like the goddamn Cheshire cat. Mickey didn’t miss the way her eyes flickered up and down Ian’s body, not just once but several times.

“Uh.” Ian had yet to see Mickey, who was standing a couple steps behind him in the hallway. “Hi?”

Mandy seemed absolutely delighted and Mickey wanted to sink into the floorboards. “Hi,” she said, placing too much emphasis on the word. “I’m Mandy, Mickey’s sister. Didn’t mean to scare you, I was just raiding his fridge.”

“Oh! Across the hall, right?” Of course Ian would remember something Mickey had only mentioned in passing last night. And of course he wouldn’t be the slightest awkward about being caught half naked in the middle of his walk of shame. “Sorry, I’m Ian.”

_Please god don’t say ‘I know’_ , Mickey prayed, and thankfully Mandy didn’t. Though her face said it all anyway, but maybe, because he didn’t know her, Ian wouldn’t be able to read her expressions.  

And then Ian walked over and shook Mandy’s hand. Like he wasn’t just Mickey’s failed sexcapade.

Oh, Mandy was loving this. Too much for Mickey’s taste, he could see Mandy’s eyes straying down to Ian’s crotch, could see the fucking glee in her expression.   

He started waving his hands around, making cut-throat gestures, daring her to say something, anything, daring her to make any sort of comment whatsoever.

Mandy snorted and that was when Ian caught on to the fact that someone else was in the room, because turned around and their eyes met. Ian’s stupid face broke into a giant grin. As if Mickey hadn’t passed out on him last night, as if they had actually had some super great sex instead of awkward drunken fumbling.

“You’re awake!”

“Uh. Yeah…”

Mickey was more preoccupied with Mandy mouthing ‘Wow!’ and ‘Score!’ behind Ian’s back while giving Mickey an exaggerated thumbs-up to really say anything of more substance.

Ian pulled a hand through his wet hair, which distracted Mickey from Mandy’s excited secret messages. “Hope you didn’t mind I borrowed your shower,” he said and Mickey did a strange jerky movement between a head-shake and a shrug.

He glanced towards Mandy again, finding her shamelessly ogling Ian’s ass. He felt an urge to slap a hand over her eyes and bark at her not to look. When she pulled her eyes away and met Mickey’s she merely looked smug again. ‘Phew!’ she mouthed, fanning herself.

Ian walked towards him, and for a second Mickey was scared he would kiss him (not that he would mind except that he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet and Mandy would never let him live something like a good morning kiss down) but all Ian did was brush against him as he walked past him. “Just gonna go get dressed, will be right back.”

“Um. Sure.” He stared after him until he disappeared into Mickey’s bedroom. When the door clicked shut behind him Mickey deflated like a balloon; he hadn’t realized he’d been straining himself to stand up taller and not slouch the way he usually did. He turned to face Mandy. “Not a word,” he grumbled, pushing past her to refill his glass of water as if he could wash the mortification away.

When he dared to look back at Mandy after downing the water he found her still with that same elated, somewhat smug, look on her face.

“Jesus, _what_? Can’t a guy have a guy over to his own apartment now?”

“That’s him,” she stated simply. “That’s your ‘oh my god I can’t talk to him without peeing myself’ crush. In your apartment. Half naked.” She ignored all of Mickey’s frantic shushing. “How the hell did you manage that, did you sell your soul to the devil?”

“Will you shut the fuck up?!”

“I’m just proud of you! Damn, Mickey, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Yeah, yeah… Whatever.”

She kept staring at him. “So…”

Mickey blinked. “So…”

She rolled her eyes and slapped his arm. “So! Details, idiot! How was he? Was he _everything you dreamed_?” She clasped her hands together, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Keep your fucking voice down!” Mickey whisper-shouted, glancing towards the hallway. “Jesus!”  

Mandy rolled her eyes and leaned back against the kitchen bench. “No but seriously though, how big is he because from what I could tell from where I was standing… god _damn_.”

Mickey’s ears grew hot and he tried to think of a way out of this but fuck, he had never been one to shy away from bragging to Mandy whenever he fucked someone with a big dick. “I don’t know,” he hissed. “Okay? I don’t fucking know, we didn’t get that far.”

“What do you mean you didn’t get that far? You telling me he stayed over, looking like that, and you didn’t get on his dick? He waiting for marriage or something?”

“We were drunk and fell asleep.”

Mandy seemed to have trouble holding back her laughter because her eyes turned comically wide and the corners of her lips twitched like someone were tugging at them. “Well good luck with _that_ awkward conversation,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “You better brush your teeth and salvage the situation. The morning is still young, there might still be time to fuck the man of your dreams.”

Mickey groaned and shoved Mandy towards the door. “Out.”

“Ooh, eager!”

Mickey opened the door and shoved her over the threshold. “Goodbye!”

He slammed the door in her face but not before she could call out, “Get it!”

Mickey rested his forehead against the door, taking several deep breaths before he pulled back and made his way back into the kitchen. “Want some breakfast or somethin’?” he called, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He didn’t have much food to serve, but he might be able to scrape something together if Ian wanted him to.

Ian came out of the bedroom and damn him for not looking the slightest bit hungover. “Sure, yeah, if you’re offering,” he said and now when he was fully dressed Mickey became acutely aware of the fact that he was just standing there in his underwear.

“I’m just gonna…” He gestured towards his room before scurrying off, a mantra of _fuck fuck fuck_ screaming in his head. Did Ian remember that Mickey had fallen asleep? Was he offended? Did he think Mickey was some lightweight that he wouldn’t bother calling again?

He returned from the bedroom only to see that Ian had already put plates and glasses on the table. “Figured I should help,” he said, shrugging.

Mickey mimicked the shrug and went over to pull out some bread. “Toast?” he asked. “I’ve only got butter and cheese though.”

“Works for me,” Ian said and not long after they were seated at the table, chewing their food in silence.

The elephant in the room was running in circles around them.

“So last night –“

“About last night –“

Their eyes met and they laughed, the tension easing a little.

“You first,” Ian said, and Mickey felt a little better when he could see a slight hint of color in Ian’s cheekbones.

“Yeah, so, uh.” Mickey rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Ian’s penetrating gaze. “Sorry about last night. That, um, it’s never happened before.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Ian said, and Mickey dared to glance at him. “I was way too fucking drunk to get it up anyway. I’m pretty sure I fell asleep the very moment I noticed you had, it was like a chain reaction.”

Mickey shook his head, laughing in relief. “Man, we suck.”

Ian grinned. “We really do.”

With the awkwardness finally out of the way they were able to talk a bit easier. Ian told Mickey a little bit about his siblings, about how they often came to visit him after he had moved away and Mickey also found out that Ian worked part-time as a bartender and part-time at a pizzeria. Likewise Mickey told Ian about his jobs and they had a bit of a bonding session over awful customers.

Soon, way too soon, Ian was going home. It was nine already, where the fuck had time gone?

Ian stopped in the doorway, chewing on his bottom lip. “So, raincheck?”

Mickey cursed his stupid stomach for flipping. Ian wanted to try again. Fuck yes. “Yeah? You wanna?”

“Definitely.” Mickey didn’t miss the way Ian’s eyes seemed to nearly darken a little. “Let’s not get drunk beforehand though. Will I see you at the gym?”

Oh, right. The gym. “Yeah, sure,” he said, heart pounding at the thought of being at the gym with Ian now after what had happened. Would Ian want to exercise with him? Sweet baby Jesus.  

“Great.” Ian grinned and swooped in to press a quick kiss to Mickey’s lips. “See you then.”

“Um.” Tingles. Fucking everywhere. “Yeah, see you.”

Ian walked away with one last wave and Mickey closed the door after him with a shuddering sigh. His eyes fell on the clock on the wall. 9:04.

It was only three hours until the next time they’d see each other, but for some reason it felt like an eternity.

Mickey was about to step into the shower when his phone pinged.

**_Ian G.  
_** _Miss u already_


	9. Then and Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Hi. Shame on me. Does anyone remember this story?

**Then**

Ian was doing pull-ups when Fiona elbowed him in the ribs, making him lose his focus. He dropped back to the ground. "What?"

Fiona nodded towards a guy over at the treadmills. "That's the guy I was telling you about a last time.”

Ian looked over, eyebrows raised. "The one you thought was hitting on you?"

“He so wasn’t,” she added, laughing. “Yup, the very one. The one I thought was staring at my tits at first, but then I realized he was checking _you_ out. I’m one hundred percent sure."

"That's so weird,” Ian said, glancing over at the guy again. “I actually sort of competed with him the other day on the treadmills."

Fiona's face lit up in delight. "Really? What did he say?"

"Nothing." Ian frowned, trying to be inconspicuous with his glances. The guy was pretty average looking, but something about it was really attractive still. Actually, something about him was sort of effortlessly sexy. Plus, he was a good runner and a fierce competitor, Ian could appreciate that. His clothing had certainly seen better days, but Ian wasn't one to judge what people were wearing, he'd lived on hand-me-downs his entire childhood. "Neither of us said anything,” he continued. “It was just a fun competition to end the work-out."

"Huh." Fiona was less subtle with the way she threw glances at the guy and Ian was worried he would soon look up into the mirror and catch her blatantly staring at him. "Maybe he's shy."

Ian shook his head with a scoff. "Shy? That guy? Dude, Fi, he looks like that kind of guy from back home that would beat me with a baseball bat if I ever looked at him suggestively. Read what's tattooed on his knuckles? I'm pretty sure one of them says 'fuck'.” Ian wiped his forehead with his wrist. “He's probably got a swastika somewhere on him, I know the type. He probably didn't say anything to me the other day because he's the kinda guy that thinks any contact with another dude in the gym is 'gay'.” He jumped back onto the pull-up bar. For one second it seemed like his eyes met the other guy’s in the mirror, but Ian had probably imagined it. “Our treadmill run was the 'no homo' kind of run,” he said, pulling himself up with a low groan.

Fiona laughed at his rant, but she was adamant. "Are you stereotyping right now?" she asked, swatting at Ian’s thigh lightly before picking her weights back up.  "Just 'cause he looks like he does he can't be into checking out hot dudes at the gym?"

Ian snorted and lost his concentration so he had to jump down from the bar again. "That's not what I meant. I just don't get the vibe, you know?"

"Just start paying attention to him," Fiona said, cocking her head in the guy’s direction. "You'll notice it soon enough. I'm pretty sure he's been looking right now."

Ian looked over, but the guy was staring straight ahead at himself in the mirror. "He's not that bad looking, I guess. Could have been worse."

"So what are you waiting for?" Fiona asked, way louder than Ian was comfortable with and he glanced around, uneasy.

"A sign," he said, lifting up a pair of weights himself. "I can't just waltz over there and ask if he wants to fuck. I gotta be sure, unless I want to get my ass kicked."

"This is why it’s been so long since you’ve had a boyfriend," Fiona said. "By the time you've caught on, the guy's already moved on. You're too slow."

"So your advice is I should just propose to him right now?" Ian smirked. "That's more your style, isn't it?"

"You're so full of shit, Ian!"

Ian jumped away from her swatting hands, cackling loudly. 

* * *

"Hah! I told you you were wrong!" 

Fiona turned towards Ian, raking her fingers through her hair to gather it into a high ponytail. "What?"

"Don't stare, but that guy just came in with a girl."

Fiona's eyes trailed over to where the guy and his female companion were stepping onto the treadmills. "Doesn't have to mean anything," she said, waving it off, determined to have her theory proved right no matter what. Ian challenged her with a raised eyebrow. "They look pretty similar to me,” she went on. “I'm calling siblings."

"Hm." Ian rolled his shoulders before picking up the heaviest weights he could reasonably manage. "I dunno." He looked towards the pair, making sure his eyes never settled on them for too long. "Haven’t there been studies done that show that you're attracted to people who look similar to you? I'm calling girlfriend."

"You need to get your gaydar adjusted, I swear to god."

“Fiona, she just _licked his arm_. Pretty sure I’m right.”

“And he looked disgusted, if she was his girlfriend he wouldn’t have looked like she just gave him a disease. I’m telling you, I know that look. Sister.”

* * *

 Ian came into the gym on Monday with a plan. He was going to say hi to the guy and feel things out. It would be relatively easy to find out if he was interested or not, right? Fiona’s sister theory intrigued him, but he wasn’t convinced, calling the girl his sister was a bit too much like wishful thinking.

Ian was lying on his back, doing his usual bench press routine. He would work out as he always did for a while before he went over to the guy, then maybe they would race each other on the treadmills again, that had been fun. Ian would win this time.

When he sat up, his eyes automatically landed on the treadmills, as that’s where the guy usually was. He had arrived, and Ian smirked a little to himself. Here we go. He made to get up, but that’s when he noticed that the guy wasn’t alone. He was accompanied by a guy in a ridiculous shirt with hair that stood every which way as if he’d just stepped out of a tornado. And, not to stereotype or anything, but it was pretty obvious that the guy played for Ian’s team.  

The guy, “Ian’s guy”, made a move as if he wanted to turn his head, but the other one grabbed a hold of his chin in a way that looked pretty intimate to Ian. Huh. Ian’s eyebrows rose on his forehead, surprised at this new development. They were talking to each other like that, the dude with the hair holding the other’s chin. Ian was both annoyed and intrigued at the same time. Intrigued because his guy couldn’t be (that) homophobic if he allowed himself to be touched so intimately by someone who was clearly gay, and annoyed because he might actually be seeing this other guy.

Ian tried not to openly stare. He scratched his neck and tried to make it look like he was sitting there stretching, like his eyes just happened to wander all over the room, settling on nothing and no one in particular.

The guy with the hair ran his fingers down Ian’s guy’s arm. So affectionate in public, clearly it was new. Goddamn, this was just Ian’s luck. Fiona was right, he was always too late. Maybe the guy was single just earlier this month and Ian had missed his window because he was so oblivious to when people were interested in him.

Ian sighed heavily, mentally filing this away as another failed opportunity, and got up, walking over to the weights just so he wouldn’t have to look at the cute public display of affection happening right in front of him.

The two guys continued to chat (and flirt) as they worked out on the opposite side of the room. The disappointment was really starting to sink in now and Ian decided to leave early. Maybe he’d go out later and find someone he could take home, that way he would feel better tomorrow and it would all be forgotten.

He wasn’t all that sweaty so Ian just kicked off his work-out shoes and made to pull his shirt off, planning to just change as quickly as possible and showering at home, but he paused when his eyes landed on the post-it notes in his bag. He used them for shopping lists and other little reminders, but also when he needed something handy to write his number on. He didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but before he could think about it too much he had scrawled down his number on the yellow paper. Just in case.

He had just finished his little message when he realized how silly the idea was. He didn’t even know what gym bag or jacket to slip it into. Ian stuffed the note down into his pocket with a huff, feeling ridiculous, and pulled his shirt over his head, slipping on his go-to plaid. He heard the sounds of someone else coming in after him and going through their locker behind him. Ian turned around and blinked, surprised. He was easily recognizable with those worn clothes and the black hair, even from behind. Ian’s eyes shamelessly traveled down his body. He also had a really good ass.  

Ian could tell the exact moment the guy realized he was being watched because his shoulders stiffened and his breathing seemed to stop for a moment. When he turned around it was like all the air got sucked out of the room. Their eyes met and the energy that sizzled between them was almost palpable. Ian had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his life. Maybe it was the setting (a public changing room), the fact that this guy might have been eyeing him up for a month, or the fact that he might be seeing someone else but was still interested in Ian (hey, Ian never claimed to not be fucked up). Whatever the reason was, Ian wanted this guy, this stranger, so badly. He just needed a sign, something that would tell him whether he was imagining the whole thing. He was about to open his mouth and just ask.

But then, the guy smirked. And their lips slammed together.

**Now**

Mickey arrived at the gym ten minutes before noon, timing it so that he would be finished in the changing room on the dot. Ian didn't come in while he was getting changed, so he assumed he had already arrived. If he hadn’t stood him up of course, that was always a possibility.

Mickey paused in front of the mirror before exiting the changing room, running his fingers through his hair and making sure he didn't have anything in his teeth. He was such a loser.

He made a face at himself before he took a deep breath and curled his fingers around the door knob. Here we go.

Ian must have been watching the door because their eyes met the instant Mickey pushed it open. Ian’s handsome face broke into a grin and he waved Mickey over.

Mickey felt his heart jump up into his throat as he stepped across the floor. He really should have taken the time to buy some new work-out clothes before he went here. He hoped Ian wouldn't notice, or had already noticed, that his sweatpants had some holes in them and that his shoes were pretty much falling apart.

"Hi." Ian was all smiles. He couldn’t have been waiting long, thank god, because there was no sweat in his hairline. Mickey probably shouldn't know just how long it took Ian to break into a sweat, but there you go.

"Hey." Mickey rubbed his neck, glancing around to see if anyone were looking. It must be written on his face how hot he found Ian. "So, uh."

"This is a bit weird, huh?"

Mickey laughed, smiling sheepishly. "Yeah, a bit."

"Do you want to run again?” Ian nodded towards the treadmills. “Last time was fun."

Mickey breathed out a sigh of relief. Running was something he could do. He had been worried Ian would want to see how much he could bench press, like some sort of test of whether or not he'd be a suitable partner. "Yeah, you're on, Freckles."

Ian chuckled, jabbing his sharp elbow into Mickey's side before they got onto the treadmills. "Fifteen minute warm-up?"

“Got ya."

Somehow it was easier to talk to Ian while they were running. He still got distracted when their eyes met in the mirror, but it was easier now when he no longer had to pretend he wasn't looking in the first place. It was especially nice to catch Ian looking every once in a while only to be given an innocent smile when Mickey caught him doing it.

After a few minutes, Mickey decided to voice the question he had been wanting to ask. “Why didn't you say anything? To me, I mean, after your sister told you about me."

Ian met his eyes in the mirror. "I was waiting for you to. Didn’t wanna just assume and seem like a tool. You could’ve been staring at me for other reasons."

Mickey scoffed out a chuckle. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Ian grinned. He was so stunning Mickey could barely look at him. “Maybe you thought I looked funny. Maybe I looked like someone you knew or maybe you thought you’d seen me somewhere before and just tried to place me.”

Mickey scoffed "You'd have waited a long time, man. For me to say anything, I mean."

“Yeah, I'm figuring that out now,” Ian said, reaching over to shove him in the shoulder. The casual flirting made Mickey’s stomach flip. “You're not as forward as you look."

"And you're pretty damn forward," Mickey said. "You pretty much assaulted me in the changing room, what the hell, man?"

Ian's smile broadened. He clearly had no regrets. Mickey didn’t either, but come on, who did shit like that? "That was hot. I was pretty encouraged by that guy you'd brought with you, at least I knew you seemed to be into the dick."

"Yeah, I'm into "the dick", alright," Mickey said, lowering his voice into a pitch he hoped was sexy. He had to hand it to Simon though, he was a good wingman. He should probably thank him properly one of these days.

Ian upped the pace on his treadmill, smirking at Mickey in the mirror. His eyes seemed to have darkened.  

"Oh, that's how it is, bitch?" Mickey increased the pace too, trying not to listen too hard to Ian's panting and wondering if that's what he sounded like in bed. He couldn't believe he had had Ian in his bed and all they'd done was some light groping. What a waste.

They ran until it could no longer be counted as a mere warm-up. Sweat ran down both of their faces and finally Ian called it quits, jumping off his treadmill and leaning down onto his knees, his chest heaving. Mickey hopped off too, his lungs and legs burning.  

"You run well," Ian said once he'd gotten his breath back and straightened up, slapping Mickey on the shoulder.

Mickey tried not to preen and toe the ground like a flushing school girl. "So do you."

"Yeah, but you're a lot more stubborn than me," he pointed out. "I _could_ run longer, sure, but I don't like pushing myself too much over my pain threshold. You'd keep going until you fell down, wouldn't you?"

Mickey shrugged, wiping his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. He felt Ian’s gaze on his exposed stomach. He knew he wasn't as ripped as Ian, even though these past few weeks had tightened him up here and there, but it still felt good to feel Ian's gaze on him. "I don't know. I guess. If I had to, like if the cops were chasing me or something."

Ian nodded. "That's pretty hot," he said, stepping closer into Mickey’s personal space. Mickey hoped he didn’t stink too badly yet even if he was drenched in sweat. "The willpower, I mean."

Mickey squirmed a little under the compliment and the close proximity. "Yeah, yeah, shut up, man."

Ian bit his lip again, his eyes hot on Mickey's face. For a moment everything stilled. Mickey was afraid that Ian was going to kiss him, right there in the middle of the gym, but then he stepped away and all the sound in the room seemed to return. “Wanna spot me for a bit? I’ll do you after.”

_Yes, please do me after._

“Sure, yeah.”

Mickey’s heart pounded in his chest all the way over to the bench press. Holy shit. How was he going to do this _without_ popping a boner? He quickly forced a smile onto his face when they reached the bench and Ian turned around to face him.

Mickey waited while Ian put on the right amount of weights, awkwardly looking around and swinging his arms. Then Ian sat down on the edge of the bench and Mickey shuffled over to stand behind him. He could do this. It was fine, it was –

Ian took off his shirt, spread it out over the seat and lay back onto it. Mickey’s mouth went dry. He was staring right down at Ian’s stupid washboard abs.

“Mickey?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Um. Go ahead.”

Ian smirked, as if he knew what he was doing to Mickey. Clearly he was pure evil. “You better pay attention, ‘cause I put on a bit more than I usually lift. I trust you.” He winked, fucking _winked_ , and seemed to be holding back a grin as he hooked the bar free and lifted it. Mickey made sure his hands were always hovering right underneath the bar, just in case, and he tried to look anywhere but down on Ian’s chest and stomach. But then he had to look at his face, which wasn’t much better.

Their eyes met. The air crackled between them.

“Maybe half an hour is enough this time," Ian said, his voice low and gravely in a way that made Mickey shiver.

Mickey glanced around. “Yeah?”

He helped Ian put the bar back and, like giggly children, they ran back to the changing rooms.

* * *

 Mickey wasn’t usually the first to drop down onto his knees; he was worried it would seem too desperate and eager. Well, screw that, because the moment the door closed behind them in the small toilet cubicle, Mickey’s knees hit the floor.

“Fuck,” Ian hissed, pushing his hands into Mickey’s hair as Mickey pulled Ian’s drawstring pants down. He wasn’t going to waste any time the way they had done last night. He could see the outline of Ian’s hardening dick through his boxers and swallowed down a greedy moan. He ran his hands up Ian’s strong thighs, chuckling when Ian’s hips bucked forwards.

Mickey closed his lips around Ian’s dick the moment he had it out of his underwear. He’d dreamt about this for a whole month, it was literally a dream come true.

“Fuck,” Ian breathed again, his nails gently scraping across Mickey’s scull, making him moan softly around his mouthful.  

He ran his tongue across the underside, shuddering in pleasure at the feel of the vein throbbing against his tongue. He cupped Ian’s ass, pulling him forwards, aching for more.  

And more he got. He’d figured Ian was fully hard already, but oh no. Nope. When Ian’s dick hit the back of his throat, it was like that was the final push it needed to reach its full potential. Mickey drew back just so he could stare, in awe. “ _Well_ ,” he said, wrapping his fingers around the base and gave it an appreciative tug all the way from base to the tip.

Ian, for some reason, looked embarrassed and wouldn’t meet Mickey’s eyes. “Uh, I should’ve warned you maybe. Some people think it’s a bit excessive.”

“You fucking kidding me?” Mickey licked a fat stripe up Ian’s cock. Fuck, he had never seen a dick like this outside of porn. He was practically salivating and his own cock was straining in his pants. “Whoever said that is a goddamn idiot.” He delved back in before Ian could say anything else, loving the way his lips stretched around it.

He shoved a hand down into his own pants, unable to resist any longer.  

“Mick, are you…?” Ian’s gasp morphed into a long groan. “Shit.”

Mickey smiled around his cock, hollowing his cheeks and really going for it, sucking hard at the head while fisting the base. His hand worked in his pants, massaging and squeezing himself, moaning around Ian’s dick.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ian breathed, completely voicelessly, trying to stay quiet. His fingers tightened in Mickey’s hair and fuck, Mickey hadn’t known he was into that but apparently he was. “Gonna come,” Ian whispered, still trying to keep quiet.

Mickey groaned low in his throat, looking up through his eyelashes as he ran his tongue over the head of Ian’s dick, opening his mouth when he felt the first pulse of come. Ian’s hips jerked, his fingers tightened in Mickey’s hair to the point of pain, and he hissed through his teeth as his orgasm rushed through him.

Mickey, unable to stop himself, came as well, coating his palm as Ian coated his tongue.

When the spurts slowed down and eventually stopped, Mickey closed his lips around Ian’s head again and sucked softly at the remnants, earning a hard shudder and a pained “shit” in return. He made sure he held Ian’s gaze as he swallowed and in that moment he felt like the most powerful man on earth, being able to bring such a gorgeous guy to such a disheveled state.

Ian detangled his fingers from Mickey’s hair and hauled him upright by the neck of his shirt and crashed their lips together in one of the filthiest kisses Mickey had ever partaken in. He laughed against Ian’s lips.

“Hold on, man, I gotta…” He pulled away, tugging some toilet paper out of the holder so he could wipe his palm and chuck it into the toilet. Ian was smirking when Mickey looked back up.  “Shut up.”

Ian said nothing, just kissed him again, softer this time. “How’s lunch sound?”

Mickey nodded without even having to think about it. “Great.”

They went for subway and it was the best subway Mickey had ever had, but if it was the actual food or just Ian’s presence, he didn’t know. All he knew was that an hour flew by like it hadn’t even been there in the first place, and suddenly it was time for him to go. “Shit, man, I gotta go,” he said. “I gotta go home and grab a shower before I head to work.”

Ian nodded, and Mickey was happy to see that he seemed disappointed too. “Sure,” he said, taking his jacked off the back of the chair. “Maybe I’ll see you again later this week? How’s Thursday for you?”

Thursday was several days away, but Mickey didn’t want to be needy and gross, so he pretended to think about it, like he could possibly have anything else planned. Well, he could have work, but he didn’t. “Alright, man,” he said, slipping his own jacket on.  

“Dinner?”

“Sure.”

Ian smiled and Mickey tried, and failed desperately, not to smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to update more regularly here on out. As always, feel free to point out typos and other mistakes I might've missed so I can correct them. And if you're a new reader who just read this from start to finish, if you see any continuity errors you should let me know about those as well :) Thank you!


	10. L Is for the Way You Look at Me

“Oh my god, would you _please_ put your phone away, you’re worse than a thirteen year old girl.”

Mickey looked up sharply, meeting Mandy’s hard, but amused, stare.

“Fuck off,” he scoffed, but shut his screen off and pointedly laid his phone down next to him, making a show of letting go of it.

“What’re you talking about anyway?” Mandy asked, reaching into the bag of potato chips on her lap. They were watching a movie, or at least they were supposed to. Mickey had been texting Ian through most of it and had no idea what was going on. He supposed he _was_ being a bit anti-social, but to be fair he saw Mandy almost every day, she would just have to learn to chill the fuck out.

“Nothin’,” he said just as his phone vibrated against the couch next to him. He had to physically strain himself not to pick it up.

Mandy must have noticed the effort it took because she tutted loudly and snatched his phone up and had it unlocked before he could even blink.

“Hey!” He reached for it but she bounced out of his reach.

“Why the fuck are you talking about pizza?” she asked, eyeing their conversation with a raised eyebrow. “Is that seriously more interesting than watching shit get blown up with your favorite sister? I was expecting to see some _oh baby you make my dick hard_. _That_ I could forgive and understand. _This_ offends me.”

Mickey groaned, banging his head against the back of the couch. At least they hadn’t progressed so far into their relationship thing that they’d started sending dick pics, thank god. “I don’t know why,” he said, ignoring the last half of what she’d said. “We just started talking about it and then he said he likes pineapples on pizza and now I’m seriously reconsidering this whole thing we have.” He grinned despite himself. “It’s like I don’t even know him.”

“Technically you don’t,” Mandy said and Mickey caught her scrolling up through their texts.

“Oh no you don’t.” This time he succeeded in snatching the phone away from her. Nosy bitch. “And maybe I don’t, but we’re working on it.”

“Where’s he taking you for dinner?” she asked, rolling her eyes as she caught Mickey sneakily trying to text Ian back by hiding his phone behind his thigh.

**Mickey  
** my sister is a nosy bitch, she saw our texts and she thinks we’re stupid

“Don’t know yet.”

“Well, is it fancy or casual? You gotta know these things so you know what to wear. You didn’t think to ask? It’s like you’ve never been on a date before, jesus.”

“He wouldn’t take me somewhere fancy.” Or would he? Mickey hoped not, he didn’t have any nice clothes. He had one semi-nice shirt, but that was it. He would have to re-use it if they ever went out again and then Ian would see through him. “Fuck, why is this so hard?” 

“It’s not hard, you literally just ask him where he’s taking you. No hocus pocus.”

“ _You’re_ hocus pocus,” Mickey muttered under his breath.

**Mickey**  
btw where we going on thursday?

Ian replied to both texts almost instantly.

**Ian G.**  
Maybe we are just a little bit stupid   
How about Sizzler’s?

Mickey looked up. “He says Sizzler’s.”

“Alright, not too bad." Mandy pursed her lips in thought. “You can wear regular clothes. No need to buy a new wardrobe quite yet.”

“Bitch.”

**Mickey**  
cool

**Ian G.**  
Cool :) can’t wait

**Mickey**  
dork. I should probably go, my sister’s an attention whore  
talk to you later

**Ian G.**  
Okay! Say hi to her from me :) I’ll be going to bed soon so goodnight x

“He says hi,” Mickey said without looking up. “He also said ‘x’, what the fuck’s that mean?”

“Well, Mickey Milkovich, 80 years old, an x is a kiss,” Mandy explained with exaggerated patience.

Mickey read the text again, held back a smile, and switched it off, flinging it to the end of the couch. “And what does it _mean_? A kiss?”

“Clearly he likes you.”

Something in Mickey’s stomach tightened. “Yeah?”

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re in love,” Mandy said, grinning too wide for her face. She poked Mickey in the stomach and his face heated up.  

“I’m not in love,” he said, feeling a hot flash of panic at the mere thought.  “It’s too soon for that shit.”

“Keep telling yourself that." Mandy turned back to the TV screen. “But you seem in love to me.”

“I’m not,” Mickey insisted. Because he wasn’t, he’d been out with Ian _twice_ , his feelings couldn’t possibly run that deep. “You said it yourself, I barely know him.”

“Can’t help what you feel.”

Mickey didn’t reply, because he supposed that was true. But it didn’t necessarily have to mean that what he felt was love. That was too final, too serious. Even though he didn’t like the word ‘crush’ as he felt it sounded so fucking juvenile, he much preferred it to ‘love’. Love’s for people ready to get married and shit, and here he and Ian were just planning their first dinner date. For fuck's sake.

His eyes were on the screen for the rest of the movie, but his thoughts were elsewhere. By the time the credits started rolling he had no idea how it ended. He had a lot to think about.

* * *

Come Thursday, Mickey had decided to try to calm himself down a little and maybe try to hold back some. He would still show interest, but he would try to quench some of the more obvious parts of his adoration. He didn’t want to scare Ian off by being _too_ interested. Being hard to get was supposed to be hot, right? 

Ian was on his way to pick him up, and Mickey wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t. He was standing in front of the mirror smoothing gel through his hair when he heard the doorbell. “Fuck,” he murmured and quickly wiped his gelled hands on the towel by the sink. He gave himself another once over, deemed it as good as it could get, and walked over to get his jacket. He opened the door and came face to face with a smiling Ian. He couldn’t stop his heart from skipping just little. But Ian couldn’t see that, so it didn’t worry him too much.

“Hey,” he said, slipping on his black leather jacket that always made him feel more in control. He was so not in control right now, so every little booster helped.

“Hi,” Ian said, looking him up and down appreciatively. “You look good. I like the leather.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey smirked, slipping out the door and locking it behind himself. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Red.”

They walked down through the hall and Mickey tried not to shudder as Ian put a hand on the small of his back as they walked outside. Play it cool, Milkovich, jesus.

“That’s mine,” Ian said, nodding towards a beat-up red car parked on the side of the road. “It’s not much, but it runs fine.”

“I don’t even have a car so I’m not judgin’,” Mickey said and slid into the passenger seat. The car smelled like gas and cigarette smoke and the backseat floor was littered with empty soda cans. Mickey scowled at the sight of them. “Fuckin’ Pepsi, man?” He fixed Ian with a look of disbelief once he got in on the other side. “First the pineapples and now this shit? I’m really starting to think we’re not compatible at all.”

“Opposites attract is what I’ve always heard.”

“Awfully convenient.” Mickey sank bank into the seat just as Ian started the car. Mickey tried not to look at him too often, but he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the way Ian was nonchalantly holding onto the wheel with one hand while the other one resting in the windowsill. How was everything this guy did so hot, even something as mundane as driving a fucking car?

“So I was thinking,” Ian started, ending Mickey’s wandering thoughts of bending over the hood of the car. “I was thinking we have something to eat, and then maybe some dessert, then we might go home to mine? Or yours if you want, but mine’s closer.”

Fuck yes. “Sure, man, sounds good.”

Ian looked over at him, grinning. “Awesome. Maybe this time will turn out more successful than the last.”

“It better,” Mickey grumbled and made Ian laugh. Mickey tried tightening his abs to stop his stomach from doing that annoying fluttering thing, but it didn’t do much.  

They chose to sit at a table in the corner so they could have as much privacy as possible. Mickey was slightly paranoid that they would look too much like they were on a date, but his worry soon ebbed away when Ian got the conversation going. It was easy after that, he barely thought about it.

“So how are your other siblings doing?” Ian popped a piece of steak into his mouth and swallowed it down with a mouthful of Pepsi (fucking traitor). “I remember some brothers.”

Mickey sipped his superior Coke. “We don’t exactly talk on the phone every day but last time I checked they were good. They still live back at the old house. Iggy’s got a girl living there too, at least he did before, fuck knows if he managed to keep her.”

“I’m jealous you got some of your family here with you,” Ian said with a wistful sigh. “And that you live so close. I don’t get to visit my siblings a lot, but Fiona tries to visit when she can. Lip too, but he’s so busy with his fancy job.”

“Lip.” Mickey tried to jog is memory. “Kinda dorky lookin’ guy with a weak chin? Kind of an arrogant asshole?”

Ian’s slightly saddened expression morphed into one of laughter, which made all kinds of feelings bounce around inside of Mickey all over again. “Yup, that’s Lip. I’m sure he’d love that description.”

“This is so fuckin’ weird, I can’t believe we didn’t recognize each other. Hell, I still don’t.” Mickey’s eyes roamed over Ian’s face. When he really thought about it he did think he was able to _maybe_ connect the man in front of him to some small redheaded freckle from the neighborhood, but it wasn’t an easy connection to make.

“I know, but after I moved to my dad’s at thirteen I mostly just hung out at the old house when I was visiting the south side, so it’s not that weird.” Ian licked some grease off his index finger. Mickey didn’t zero in on that little slip of tongue. He didn’t. “I think we might’ve been on the same Little League team for a while though.”

“Shit, really?” Mickey blinked, trying to think back. “I can barely even remember Little League.”

“I think you’re the one who got kicked off the team for pissing on first base?”

“Holy shit.” Now it was Mickey’s turn to laugh. He leaned back in his seat, surprised. “Yeah, that was me. Jesus.”

“And now we’re both here.” Ian’s eyes looked soft in the dim light. Mickey wanted to lean across the table and kiss him. “What’re the odds?”

“Slim to none, I’d bet.”

Under the table, Ian’s foot slid over to nudge his. Mickey raised an eyebrow, but Ian just smiled innocently, sliding his foot up and down Mickey’s ankle.

Mickey cleared his throat, his eyes automatically sweeping over the other guests eating at the tables nearby while Ian kept eating as if he wasn’t sensually caressing Mickey’s leg under the table. Mickey’s fingers tightened around the utensils and he tried to concentrate on what Ian was saying, but it was far from easy.

“- so I spent two whole hours trying to get it to work.”

“What?”

The corners of Ian’s lips stretched into a sly smirk. “Distracted, Mickey?” His foot traveled further up Mickey’s leg, and holy shit, had he taken off his fucking shoe? That motherfucker. “I was telling you about the new TV set I got last week.”

A hot flush crept up Mickey’s chest and throat. He just hoped it wouldn’t reach his face. “Right. Flatscreen?”

Ian nodded, still smirking. “You bet. Maybe we can watch a movie when we get home later.”

“Yeah, as if we’ll be watching a fuckin’ movie.” Mickey surprised himself with that, but Ian just chuckled, his foot having reached the beginnings of Mickey’s thigh. Apparently Mickey was scrapping that whole ‘playing hard to get’ idea because at this moment he had never felt easier. Ian could take him right here and now across the table and he would only mildly protest.    

“Hmm, you never know. I’ve got some pretty awesome movies in my collection.”

Holy fuck. Ian’s foot traveled further up his thigh and Mickey’s pants were suddenly considerably tighter than they had been earlier this evening. He tried to swallow the piece of steak inside his mouth, but his throat was so dry it almost stuck and he had to drink two large gulps of coke to successfully get it down.

Ian, the motherfucker, just sipped his fucking Pepsi as if nothing was going on. “Have you seen the most recent Marvel?”

“The what?” Mickey could only focus on the steady pressure on the inside of his thigh, climbing higher by the second until Ian’s toes brushed his groin. Now, feeling his hardness, Ian got a wicked glint in his eyes.  

“The new superhero movie,” he said, pressing the sole of his foot to Mickey’s growing erection. “I thought it was pretty decent. The action scenes were good.”

Mickey reached down under the table and grabbed Ian’s ankle, unsure whether he was trying to stop it from moving or if he was trying to press it harder against himself. “Fucker,” he growled, watching with helpless lust as Ian’s pupils swallowed the green in his eyes. 

Ian picked up the last piece of steak on his plate. He popped it into his mouth and made a real performance out of it, pulling the fork out slowly to make sure Mickey was watching and getting ideas for what else those lips could be wrapped around. “Wanna see the dessert menu?” he asked, all wide eyes and faux innocence as he put down his cutlery.  

“Fuck you and your dessert menu, we’re leavin’.” Mickey pushed away from the table so hard the legs scraped loudly across the floor. The couple at the table next to them took their eyes off each other to send Mickey accusing stares he didn’t acknowledge.

Ian was already reaching for his jacket, his grin nearly splitting his face. His foot had slipped away from Mickey’s groin, leaving behind a dull, throbbing ache. Fuck, he was going to be hard the entire way back to Ian’s place, wasn’t he?

Ian slapped some bills onto the table and out they went, Mickey keeping his jacket folded in front of himself so he wouldn’t get arrested for indecent exposure. Once they got into the car, Mickey lounged across the middle, pulling Ian into a bruising kiss.

Ian must have been expecting it because he was kissing back instantly. He grabbed the back of Mickey’s head, licking into his mouth and laughing at how Mickey seemed to be right on his way to crawl over the gear stick to straddle him. “Hold on, hold on, let me just -” Mickey cut him off with a sharp bite to his bottom lip and Ian trailed off into a moan. “Fuck, okay,” he gasped, fumbling blindly for his key and jamming it into the ignition.

Mickey leaned back into his own seat so Ian could start the car and get them out of this parking lot. Once Ian was on the road, Mickey got an idea. He smiled to himself as he put a hand high on Ian’s thigh, squeezing it.

Payback time.

Ian inhaled sharply through his nose and sent him a quick heated look. He didn’t push Mickey’s hand away, so Mickey dared to slide his hand all the way up to squeeze Ian’s dick. He felt a twitch against his palm and he chuckled when he saw Ian grip the steering wheel just a little bit tighter. Yeah, that’s more like it.

Mickey kept his eyes on the road as he continued to fondle Ian through his jeans. Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get him naked so he could see his dick again and _finally_ have it inside him. He could probably write wax poetry about Ian’s dick. He’d even write an essay if he had to. Ten pages, cites sources, the whole shebang.

He got Ian rock hard in no time and he'd be lying if he said he felt no pride in that fact. He scraped his nails over the clothed head and smiled in satisfaction when Ian’s foot slipped a little on the gas and the car jerked. Doing this didn’t exactly help with his own erection, but at least he wasn’t alone anymore.

“Easy there,” Mickey said, voice low and husky.

“You’re killing me, Mick.” Ian tilted his hips up towards Mickey’s hand, grinding against him.

“That’s what you get for being a tease back at the restaurant.”  

“I’d only be a tease if I wasn’t planning on finishing what I’d started.”

They shared another heated look and Mickey laughed as the car sped up. “Careful, Gallagher, you’re speedin’.”

“Don’t care.”

Mickey squeezed Ian’s dick hard. “Hot.”

* * *

This time they weren’t drunk. This time Mickey was going to have a dick in him or die trying. They were on each other the moment they stepped into Ian’s one bedroom apartment. Mickey shoved Ian’s jacket off his shoulders and let Ian lead him into his bedroom, lips still very much attached to each other’s. 

They were both half naked before they even hit the bed. Mickey panted against Ian’s lips, running his fingertips over the warm skin of his back. “Fuck, I want you so bad,” he breathed and the words had barely passed his lips before Ian shoved him roughly onto the bed.

He landed with a breathy laugh, watching through a haze as Ian pulled Mickey’s pants and boxers with just one hard tug.  

“Impressive,” he chuckled, already spreading his legs because fuck it, he was not ashamed of being desperate. Maybe he would be embarrassed later, but sure as hell not right now.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Mickey’s eyes were on the ceiling, but he heard the familiar popping sound of a lube cap being opened and smiled. Fuck yes. He spread his legs wider and soon enough slick fingers were probing at his entrance, coating him with the slick substance.

“Cold?”

Mickey shook his head, though yes, it was cold. He wanted to get this show on the road ASAP, he didn’t have time to wait for such trivial things. “It’s cool, get the fuck in me.”

Ian laughed, surprised. “You’re a lot more forceful in bed than outside of it,” he said, sliding his middle finger into Mickey all the way. Mickey hissed, fingers curling into the sheets.

“You just don’t know me yet,” he said, already panting and squirming from the stimulation.

“Mhm. But I want to.” Mickey wanted to reply to that, hopefully something clever and suave, but Ian crooked his finger up into his prostate and he at once forgot what words were. All he could do was let out a long, drawn out moan.

“Oh, you’re sensitive.” Ian sounded almost awed, his voice dripping with arousal as he poked and prodded Mickey’s insides. He slid another finger in alongside the first, curling them both into his prostate.

“Fuck,” Mickey gasped, arching slightly off the bed. He looked down to where Ian was kneeling between his legs, watching his own fingers sliding in and out of Mickey with rapt interest. “Get on with it, Red, fuck.”

Ian slid a third finger in. “Patience, young grasshopper.”

“I’m good, I’m good, I can take it, man.”

Ian flashed his Cheshire cat grin. “I don’t doubt it.”

Of course Mickey had to get with the biggest fucking tease on the planet. He whined pitifully, twisting his hands into the sheets and just took it, allowing Ian to take his time because apparently he refused to be rushed. Or maybe he just liked watching Mickey unravel. Sadistic prick.

_Finally_ , after several agonizing minutes, Ian withdrew his fingers and Mickey heard the telltale sound of a condom packet ripping open. Thank you, Jesus. About damn time.

“Fuck yes,” he breathed, feeling the blunt head of Ian’s dick pressing against his hole. Ian pushed one of his knees up and slowly slid inside.

It felt like it took forever before Ian bottomed out. Mickey’s mouth hung open and he held his breath until Ian was all the way inside him. Fuck, he was big.

Ian stilled and slowly lowered Mickey’s leg again. “Alright?”

Mickey quickly wrapped both his legs around Ian’s waist, locking his ankles together and pulling Ian closer. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, uh-huh, go.”

Ian chuckled and slowly started building up a rhythm, snapping his hips while hovering over Mickey with his hands next to his head. He leaned in for a kiss and Mickey kissed back hungrily. They groaned into each other’s mouths, rocking against each other, their bodies soon growing sweaty and sticky, especially between them where Mickey’s dick rubbed against Ian’s stomach with every thrust.

“You like that?” Ian murmured, pressing kisses down Mickey’s jawline and neck, focusing on the spot where his pulse thrummed rapidly under his skin.

Mickey could only moan, loosening one hand from the sheets to grasp at Ian’s back. He felt his hard muscles ripple beneath his skin and he couldn’t resist sliding his hand down to cup his ass, as if helping him thrust.

Ian kept fucking him at a steady pace for a couple minutes more until he all of a sudden pulled out.  

Mickey, who’d been deep in his pleasure and enjoying the ride, blinked, immediately disoriented. “What are you —?”

He was cut off by Ian taking a hold of his hips and flipping him over, all but manhandling him into position on his hands and knees. He was in him again before Mickey could even register what was happening.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he groaned out, his elbows giving up and making him fall down onto his forearms. The angle was different, more head on. His entire pelvis burned and bubbled with pleasure, each thrust sent an electric pulse to his dick, now steadily dripping onto the sheets below.

“Yeah?”  Mickey was lucky his bed was facing the outside and not the next-door apartment because Ian was pounding him so hard the headboard was making a steady banging noise against the wall.

“Yeah,” he gasped, his head hanging limply between his shoulders. He was glad Ian had flipped him over because he must look stupid as shit right now with his mouth open and his eyes rolling into his head. Very charming.

“You gonna come for me?” Ian was holding Mickey’s hip with one hand, the other was sliding slowly up his back until it was resting on the back of his neck. The hold felt possessive and dominating, exactly the kind of shit that made Mickey’s knees weak in bed.

He was definitely close. He reached blindly for his dick, fisting it roughly.

He was so blissed out he couldn’t register anything besides the pleasure he was feeling, besides Ian dick in him. Ian’s hands on him. Ian’s heated voice in his ear urging him to come.

Ian Ian Ian.

He was powerless. Utterly powerless. He came with something akin to a soft cry, body stiffening, then shuddering, then finally collapsing into a boneless heap. The aftershocks were still running through him as Ian finished, groaning out his climax above him and emptying inside the condom.

Ian rolled off Mickey, landing on his back next to him with a huff and a short, breathless laugh. Mickey was face down on the bed, sated and completely fucked out. With his cheek pressed into the mattress he opened his eyes to look over at Ian. He had sweat in his hairline and on his upper lip. Mickey wanted to lick it off.

Their eyes met and they both smiled, a little shyly now.

“So,” Ian started after having tied off the condom and dropped it into the waste basket by the bed.

“So,” Mickey echoed, slowly rolling over onto his back with a groan. His muscles were sore. He felt fantastic. He might be biased because he really liked Ian, was really into him and all that shit, but this must have been the best sex he had ever had. It was definitely the best orgasm he’d had. It had felt so good that Mickey felt the need to write to the newspaper about it so everyone would know just how great sex with Ian Gallagher was.

“We have to do that again,” Ian said and Mickey could only agree. Fuck yes they did. “Wanna stay the night?”

Mickey’s heart beat faster. “Sure, man. Why not.”

“I was just thinking since it’s gotten pretty late and all…”

Mickey grinned. He tried to play it cool but he probably spoke way too quickly for it to come across as cool. “It’s fine, Ian, I wanna.”

Ian grinned back, finally relaxing back against the pillows. “Okay.” He reached out and switched off the bedside lamp, but the lamppost right outside barely let it get any darker at all.

“You need blinds, man.”

“Fuck, I know.”

They were quiet for a while until Ian broke the silence. “Do you like cuddling?"

Mickey couldn’t say he had done a lot of that, but just the thought of Ian’s arms around him as he slept made him feel warm in ways he hadn’t felt before, so he nodded. “Go for it.”

Ian scooted over to him and Mickey rolled onto his side so Ian could press up close behind him and wrap a strong arm around him. He pulled Mickey close to his chest, close enough so he could feel Ian’s heartbeat against his own skin. Mickey tried to stop grinning so hard by pressing his face into the pillow. How come he’d never done this before? Clearly there was no other way to sleep.  

Lying there together, their breaths and heartbeats synchronized, Mickey thought of Mandy’s words from earlier. _You’re so cute when you’re in love._

Mickey swallowed. Ian was asleep behind him, he could tell from the way his breathing had evened out. He ran his fingertips up Ian’s freckled arm.

In love. He snorted. Yeah, as if.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smitten Mickey is my favorite thing to write. Happy new year, you guys!


	11. Pride

Mickey thought he was being quiet, but Mandy had bat ears. She stuck her head out into the hallway before Mickey had the chance to disappear into his apartment.

“Ohhh, look who’s doing the walk of shame,” she sing-songed gleefully, stepping out into the hallway in just her panties and tank top.

Mickey didn’t even have it in him to be annoyed that Mandy was following his every move like a hawk. His ass still ached and he felt warm all over from sleeping in Ian’s arms all night. He was bursting at the seams with energy and nothing could kill his high.

“There’s no shame here,” Mickey said, unlocking his door. “Because I’ve had the best fuckin’ night and not even your nosy ass can ruin it.”

Mandy let out a very un-Mandy-like squeal. “Hold on, lemme get my pants.”

Mickey waved his hand at her in a ‘whatever you want’ gesture and entered his apartment, chucking off his jacket and kicking off his shoes. He was sore like he’d just been to the gym. It was amazing.

Mickey had barely sat down before Mandy stormed inside, sure enough wearing pants now, and all but fell onto the couch next to him. _“Now_ can you tell me if he’s hung?”

“Oh yeah,” Mickey said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “But I already knew that, I blew him in the bathroom a couple days ago.” It was weird; unlike before, he didn’t feel one trace of embarrassment. It was like sleeping with Ian had finally made him immune to sex talk with his sister. He wasn’t even blushing. He found himself almost _wanting_ to talk about it.

“Here?”

“At the gym.”

Mandy slapped his chest with the back of her hand, her eyes full of amusement. “Such a slut! I’m proud of you.”

“And this morning,” Mickey continued, ignoring her. “I blew him for like twenty minutes before he had to get to work. My jaw’s so fuckin’ sore right now it hurts to talk.” He rubbed his jaw for emphasis, feeling the ache deep in the joint.

Mandy wrinkled her nose. “I don’t have the patience to be down there for twenty minutes, fuck. If they wanna take their sweet-ass time they can fuck me instead, I’m not getting a dislocated jaw for that shit.”

“I don’t mind it,” Mickey said, shrugging one shoulder. He actually loved sucking dick, but his sister didn’t need to know _that_ much about his sex life. The line had to be crossed somewhere. But he did, he loved the power he felt when he reduced a guy to a whimpering mess. He loved the fact that it was him providing the pleasure. He loved having someone completely at his mercy, someone who, in that moment, would do anything he asked. It was such a rush. The sore jaw was something he could live with.

Mandy snickered, tucking her feet up under herself. “You are such a bottom.”

“Look at you with all your queer lingo, trying to be part of the club.”

“Bitch, I’m in the club, you’re my free pass.”

Mickey snorted. “Uh-huh, sure,” he said, and felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, expecting to see Ian’s name on the display, but instead he saw Simon’s, his one-night-stand turned sort-of friend.

_Wanna hang out tonight? Kinda need a drink_

Mandy, curious as ever, had leaned over to read the text as well. “Ohoho!” she cried. “Who’s this? You juggling two at the same time?”

“’S not like that,” Mickey said, typing back his reply, asking Simon for a time and a location. “This is Simon, that guy you saw in the hallway that one time.”

“Oh, yeah, the cute one with the hair.” She poked him in the side to get his attention and when he looked up she wriggled her eyebrows at him. “I smell a threesome.”

“No,” Mickey said at once, without missing a beat. “Not gonna happen. We fucked once, that’s it. It was good and all, but we’re keeping it in the past.”

“Ugh. Boring.”

Another text ticked in.

_Awesome, thanks x_

“He just x'd you,” Mandy said, as if Mickey hadn’t read it at the exact same time as she had. “All these dudes cyber kissing you and you’re just letting it go to waste.”

“That’s just how he is,” Mickey said, putting his phone away. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“So boring.”

* * *

Mickey and Simon planned to meet at a nearby bar. He was already there when Mickey arrived, sitting in a corner, absentmindedly stirring a drink.

“Hey,” Mickey said, catching his attention as he sat down opposite him. “What’re you having?”

Simon’s somewhat forlorn expression turned into a careful smile once he saw Mickey. “A mojito,” he replied. He pushed the glass towards Mickey. “Want a sip?”

Mickey made a face. “Imma get a beer, be right back.”

He returned a couple moments later with two glasses full to the brim. Better to get two now than having to get up again in ten minutes. “So what’s up?”

Simon’s smile turned wry. “That obvious that something’s up, huh?”

Mickey shrugged. “You look like someone just set your puppy on fire, so yeah.”

“Woah, dark.” Simon took a deep swig of his drink, not wincing at all as it went down, something Mickey couldn’t wrap his head around. Mojitos tasted like cat piss with sugar added to it to mask the fact that it’s cat piss. Except it masks nothing, you can still tell it’s cat piss. “Remember my ex-boyfriend?”

“Threw you out of the dorm, yeah.”

Simon nodded. “He called me. We had sex. It was fucking fantastic and I thought he might want me back, but then he was all ‘see ya around’ and hasn’t called me since.”

“He bootycalled you?”

“Yep.” Simon popped the p sound for emphasis and somehow looked even more deflated than before.

“Man.” Mickey leaned back. “That sucks.” He raised his glass up towards Simon before he took a sip. “You deserve better, man.”

Simon huffed out a short laugh. “Thanks. I guess I just needed someone to talk to. Someone I like but who doesn’t know me too well and _thus_ can’t really judge me. You know?”

“ _Thus,_ ” Mickey repeated, smiling.

“Okay, someone who won’t judge me apart from my vocabulary, apparently. Twat.”

“Twat.”

Simon was full on grinning now. “Shut up!” He laughed, and Mickey a warm feeling rush through him, similar to the one he felt when he made Ian laugh, except less intense. This particular feeling didn’t make his heart want to burst out of his chest, it was just nice. He hadn’t ever really had a friend, so he realized this must be what it felt like to cheer a friend up. He could get used to it. “Distract me, tell me something good,” Simon went on, still smiling and looking better than he had when Mickey had arrived. “Did you and your ex get back together?”

Mickey was suddenly happy that they were inside a pretty dark bar, because he felt heat rush to his face. It was probably time to fess up now.

“Got a confession to make, man,” he said, downing another mouthful of beer. “Ian’s not actually my ex. You just kinda came to that conclusion yourself and I never corrected you ‘cause that’s way less embarrassing than the truth.”

Simon blinked. “Okay.” He paused for a beat. “I’m intrigued. What is the truth then?”

Mickey groaned. “Truth is I’d just kinda been stalking him. At the gym, I mean. He was just some random guy I thought was hot.”

Simon stared at him for a couple of seconds before he burst out laughing. “Oh my god.” He wiped at the corner of his eyes where honest to god tears had started gathering. “That’s actually the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my _life._ Wait.” He leaned forward, pressing his palms to the sticky table top. “Did you hook up with him in the changing room or not? Because if you did, wow, I am im _pressed_.”

“We did make out, yeah,” Mickey said, smiling a little now as well because he couldn’t think about Ian and _not_ smile. “Thanks to you proving to him I’m gay by being all over me.”

“Ten points for me,” Simon said, raising his glass in a salute. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Mickey repeated in a teasing tone, earning a hard kick under the table.

“Stop making fun of my accent and tell me about… Ian, was it?” Simon stirred the straw around in his drink, swishing ice cubes around. “Did you see him again?”

“We’ve gone out a couple of times. On my way here he texted asking if wanna go see a movie with him tomorrow.”

“I love those early dating days.” Simon sighed and staring wistfully into the distance. “It’s still kind of awkward and you have to ask all those lame getting-to-know-each-other questions, but it’s all new and exciting and every bad habit he has is still endearing instead of annoying.” He seemed lost in his own thoughts for a brief moment before he turned back to Mickey. “I’ll have to meet him eventually. After all, I feel kind of like the matchmaker here.”

Mickey didn’t argue that, because he was. Maybe not a matchmaker in the traditional sense, but it was thanks to him that Ian and Mickey got that little extra push towards each other. “We’ll see,” he said. “If it lasts.”

“Of course, take your time.” Simon finished his drink with a hard slurping noise through the straw, running it along the bottom of the glass to pick up every last drop. “Now finish your beers, I wanna go dancing.”

Mickey groaned, cringing visibly. “I don’t go dancing.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “We were dancing when I met you.”

“I go to clubs when I wanna get laid.”

“Well, _I_ wanna get laid,” Simon said, gesturing towards Mickey’s beers in a hurry up motion. “And you owe me one.”

“Fine,” Mickey sighed, finishing the last quarter of his beer before moving on to chug the next one.

“Damn,” Simon said once he slammed the glass back down onto the table. “How long was that, like two seconds?”

“I’ve had practice.” Mickey stood up and pulled on his jacket. “Let’s go get you some ass.”

Simon stood, sliding out from behind the table and Mickey finally saw what Simon was actually wearing. He couldn’t hold back a slack-jawed “Holy shit.”

Simon looked down at himself, at his tight as fuck white leather pants (really, they left nothing whatsoever to the imagination). “What?”

Mickey shook his head. “Nothing.”

Not that Simon didn’t look good, because he did, but Mickey was just realizing that if Simon had grown up where Mickey had then he would probably have been beaten up every other day, if not outright been murdered in a dark alley somewhere. And sixteen year old Mickey would never have been caught dead associating with someone like Simon. Hell, his belt buckle was a fucking rainbow flag. To this day Mickey still had issues conveying that type of pride, that genuine I-don’t-give-a-shit-here-I-am-deal-with-it type of pride.

Simon shifted his weight self-consciously. “Is it too much? These are my fuck me trousers.”

Mickey had to laugh. “Yeah, man, I can tell. You look good, let’s go.” He clapped Simon on the back and out they went.

Maybe being friends with Simon was a babystep in the direction of that genuine pride.

* * *

Apparently, despite his Fuck Me pants, Simon was ridiculously picky when it came to what guys he chose to hook up with. It was both exasperating and flattering, seeing Simon had gone home with _Mickey,_ after all.

“You sure you don’t wanna find someone too?” Simon asked Mickey, saying ‘too’ as if he was going to get anything at all tonight by being so goddamn picky. “You and Ian haven’t made any rules yet, right?”

“We haven’t. But nah, I’m good. I don’t really…” Mickey trailed off with a shrug. He didn’t feel the need to fuck anyone else; he had Ian, who he knew he’d be having at least semi-regular sex with for some time. Mickey liked having one dude to focus on at a time. Less stress, less possible drama.

“One at a time,” Simon said, echoing his thoughts. “Always? That’s admirable. Ian’s a lucky guy.”

Mickey flushed. “Shut up,” he said, quickly focusing back onto the task at hand. ”Alright, what about that one,” he said for what felt like the millionth time, nodding towards a guy at the edge of the dance floor. Mickey thought said guy was pretty hot: tall, but not too tall, built but not overly so, and he had some nice stubble going on that Mickey could appreciate.

Simon considered him for a few short second before he shook his head. “Nah.”

“Oh, come on!” Mickey threw up his hands. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He reminds me of James.”

“That’s what you said about the last one.” Mickey shook his head, half-amused, half-frustrated. How could it be so hard to get someone else laid? “A black guy, might I add. Is your ex some kind of shape-shifter?”

Simon groaned pitifully, his head hitting his forearms on the bar top. “I know it’s pathetic, but I see him everywhere.”

Mickey awkwardly patted his shoulder. “Chin up, man. You just gotta pick one who looks like he fucks well and then forget about that asshole for a night. Come on.” He flicked Simon’s temple, making him straighten back up. Then Mickey grabbed him by the shoulders, twirling his stool around so he was facing the dance floor. “Pick one,” he ordered, leaving no room for argument. “Then go over there and hump and grind. Show him your Fuck Me pants.”

Simon pursed his lips, like a small child, and surveyed the dance floor. After the longest time he slid off the stool, gave Mickey a salute, and pressed into the crowd.

Mickey craned his neck to watch him, curious as to who he’d chosen. He saw Simon whisper something into a skinny Asian guy’s ear, who also seemed to be wearing Fuck Me pants, only black. The guy giggled and wrapped his arms around Simon’s neck.

Mickey nodded to himself, satisfied with a job well done, and picked up his fourth beer of the night. He was feeling the buzz but he was nowhere near drunk. He figured he would stay for a little while longer, just in case the guy didn’t work out for Simon.

“And what’s a pretty guy like you doing alone in a place like this?”

Mickey jumped at the voice in his ear, almost falling off his stool. He turned around to see none other than Ian sitting next to him. “Jesus man, you almost gave me a heart attack,” he said, grinning wide at the sight of him. “What’re you doing here?”

“Just having a drink with some friends from work,” Ian said, nodding to a booth in the corner where a mix of women and met sat laughing hysterically. “My boss, that’s the woman right there, wanted to see what a gay club was like so I brought them here.”

“As if we need more straight women in here,” Mickey snorted. “What’re you having?”

“A beer, thanks.”

Mickey motioned the bartender over and ordered him one, feeling Ian smiling at him without even needing to look at him to confirm it.

“So what’re you doing here?” Ian asked. “Are you alone?”

“Nah, I’m the wingman tonight.” Mickey looked back into the crowd but he could no longer see Simon and his new friend. “I think it worked because my friend seems to have disappeared.”

Ian looked out into the sea of people as well, as if he knew who he was looking for. “Good for him,” he said, turning back to Mickey with a wicked glint in his eyes. “And me.”

“Uh-huh.” Mickey couldn’t keep the giddy grin off his face. “Won’t your friends miss you?”

Ian shook his head. “Nah. They’re good.”

Mickey glanced back at Ian’s friends, or colleagues or whatever. One guy was gesticulating wildly as he talked, as if he was in the middle of an epic encounter of his time trying to survive alone in the jungle. “So are they the pizza people or the bar people?” he wondering, referring to the part-time jobs Ian had once mentioned.

Ian lit up. “Oh, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.” He sat up straighter, clearly excited. “I quit both those jobs, I work as an EMT now. Like I literally just started, this is my first time out with these guys.”

“Shit, not bad.” Mickey didn’t have a hard time imagining Ian rushing around helping people in need. “Congrats.”

“Thanks. I love it, it’s so much more rewarding compared to what I did before, but the downside is it’s almost a full-time job and I won’t be able to work out as often as I used to.”

Mickey hid an amused smile behind the rim of his beer glass. Oh no, the absolute horror. “Glad we got to know each other when we did then, woulda missed ya if you suddenly disappeared on me.”

“Yeah?” Ian leaned towards Mickey. “You won’t stop being into me if I go soft?”

Mickey pretended to think about it and Ian slapped his knee and turned the squeaky stool around so he was facing away from Mickey in a mock sulk.  
Mickey took a hold of Ian’s shoulder and turned him back around and kissed him, not noticing Ian’s colleagues were watching them and cheering.

“You and I both know you’re still gonna be doing crunches and sit ups and shit at home, there’s no way your Gym Freak ass is gonna go soft any time soon.” He squeezed Ian’s bicep to underline his point. “I’ve seen that fucking pull up bar bolted into your kitchen doorway. You have a problem.”

Ian grinned and he might even be flushing a little, but it was hard to tell in the blueish light. “It’s not actually bolted, it’s detachable.”

“ _What_ ever, you’re still a freak.”

Ian leaned in for another kiss. “You like it.”

Mickey spoke against Ian’s lips. “Do not.”

Half an hour later Mickey still hadn’t seen Simon again, but he had Ian for company now. They were still at the bar, laughing and talking. Ian had his hand on Mickey’s arm, his green-ish eyes staring into Mickey’s as he talked.

Honestly, Mickey had no idea what he was saying, but if that was because he was drunk after the two shots Ian had made him do or because Ian was just so distractingly beautiful, he didn’t know.

“Mick.” Ian was laughing, loud and loose and drunk. Mickey snapped back into himself.

“Huh?”

“I said my friends are waving us over. I think they want to meet you.”

Mickey glanced over at the group of friends who, sure enough, were all turned towards them. Ian gave them a wave.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mickey said. “People. I’m not very good with that being social shit.”

“Nonsense,” Ian said, picking up his drink and jumping off of the stool. “Please?” He blinked his stupid puppy eyes at Mickey. “If you feel really uncomfortable you just nudge me and we’ll go, no biggie.”

Mickey was still unconvinced, but the longer Ian blinked those eyes on him the more powerless he became. So he sighed and nodded. He was far from sober, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “Alright then, fine.”

His stomach fluttered when Ian held out his hand. He took it, feeling all kinds of silly but also not. He felt victorious. Like, he wanted to lift their linked hands into the air to show everyone that this impossibly attractive guy was his. The urge was strong, but he resisted.

Mickey was met with five people all greeting him at the same time in drunken enthusiasm, all shaking his hand and telling him their names as if he wouldn’t forget them all as soon as they’d said them.

Two of them scooted further into the booth so Ian and Mickey could sit down at the end. Ian slid in first, letting Mickey sit at the edge so he had the opportunity to get away if he needed to without attracting a lot of attention.

“So how long have you two known each other?” a guy opposite them asked. He had glasses and a crooked smile and was probably somewhere in his late twenties. It was the guy with the jungle story, but it probably hadn’t been a jungle story. Mickey would have to ask him about it later. He couldn’t for the life of him remember his name though, it could be Tim just as well as Jonathan. It was probably neither.

“Not too long,” Ian said. “We’ve been out a few times.” He bumped his shoulder into Mickey’s. “We met at the gym.”

“Stop talking about gyms and working out, you’re making me feel lazy,” a girl with the curliest hair Mickey had ever seen said. She turned to Mickey and added, “I hope you can teach him that life is about more than lifting weights.”

“I will,” Mickey said, meeting Ian’s eyes and grinning. “I fucking hate the gym.”

Ian’s jaw dropped. “ _What_? Since when? My life is a lie!”

“Since fuckin’ always,” Mickey said, rubbing Ian’s thigh as if soothing him. “There, there. I’ll make it up to you later.”

Ian’s look got heated. “You better.”

“Phew!” Curls fanned herself with the drinks menu. “Stop it you two before it gets x-rated.”

The rest of the night wasn’t half bad considering Mickey was hanging out with a bunch of strangers who he had nothing in common with. They were all drunk, so that made it easier. And Ian was there, so that made it fun. By the end of the night, Mickey could remember two names. Curls was Dani, and Ian’s boss was Hannah. Jungle Man with the glasses was C something. Curtis. Chuck. Carlos. Cornelius. Something like that.

Hannah and Dani both ended up over by the podium, drunkenly slipping bills into the dancers’ tight shorts, screaming and whooping like they were on a fucking roller coaster.

“They’re not gonna remember any of this in the morning,” Ian giggled.

“Definitely not,” Mickey agreed.

The two of them were still sitting in the booth, which was empty now. Mickey had no idea where the three other guys had gone, maybe they’d caught the gay and were off having a threesome.

He had an arm around Ian’s waist, holding him tucked closely against himself. Ian’s face was pressed into Mickey’s neck and Mickey’s body was on fire wherever Ian was touching him, which was pretty much everywhere. The thump-thump music drummed in his chest, vibrating up his legs through the floor, amplifying the feeling. “Hey,” he whispered into Ian’s ear, making him lift his head to look at him through bleary eyes. Mickey ran a hand through Ian’s hair, slowly pushing it out of his eyes. Affection. Affection was a whole new feeling for him.

They kissed softly.

Ian broke it after a couple of seconds with another low giggle. “I am so drunk right now,” he said, his head dropping back into the crook of Mickey’s neck. “You smell so good,” he sighed. “Wanna sleep like this.”

Mickey laughed. “Here? Right now?”

Ian nodded slowly. “Mhm.”

Mickey fished his phone out of his pocket. “Imma call an uber.” He shook Ian a little, making sure he was awake. “Alright?”

“Mhm. Alright, Mick.”

Mickey called an uber and managed to get them both outside, but not without any almost faceplants.

Ian swayed on his feet as they waited, giggling to himself at random moments. It was cute. Mickey wanted to kiss him but refrained from doing so. They would probably end up falling over if he tried.

Once the uber arrived, Mickey helped Ian get inside before getting in on the other side. He told the driver their addresses and Ian turned to frown at him.

“You going home to yours?”

Mickey nodded apologetically. “You mentioned you have an early shift in the morning.”

Ian’s frown deepened almost comically as he remembered. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Mickey chuckled. “So you should go home and sleep it off, tough guy.”

Ian groaned low in his throat, throwing his head back against the seat, mumbling something about not being used to early shifts. They rode in silence for a while until Ian turned to look at him. “We still on for a movie though?”

Mickey held back his pleased smile. “You remembered that but not that you have work?”

Ian reached out and cupped Mickey’s face, looking at him with drunken exaggerated seriousness. “I remember the important shit, Mickey.”

“Okay,” Mickey said, his stomach bursting with annoying little flutters.

Ian’s stop was first on the list. He climbed out, swayed, then leaned back into the car to give Mickey a sloppy kiss. “Night,” he said, tried to wink but both of his eyes ending up blinking, and stumbled off towards the door.

Mickey stared after him with a grin.

The driver heaved a sigh in the front seat, obviously done with driving drunk people around.

“Oy, shut up, man,” Mickey said, but there was no heat behind it.

“Didn’t say nothin’,” the driver said, pulling back out onto the road.

Mickey realized he had forgotten to ask Jungle Man about his time in the jungle. Now he’d never find out.


	12. Txt Me

Mickey woke up the next morning to eight text messages. Blinking sleep out of his eyes, he lowered the screen brightness with a groan and opened the conversation with Ian first. There were five unread texts, where the first one was received at 3:06 in the morning. Mickey remembered glancing at the time when he got home and it had been around ten to three.

**Ian**  
**03:06 AM**  
tood nighT mixkey

Mickey laughed.

**Ian**  
 **07:01 AM**  
Fuck my life

**Ian  
07:03 AM**  
Think I’m still drunk and I have work. Awesome  
  
**Ian**  
**08:14 AM**  
Why did we do those shots? I hate myself

**Ian**  
**11:23 AM**  
Are you still asleep, you lucky bastard? Text me when you’re conscious

Mickey checked the time now. It was just past noon. He was hungover, but it wasn’t too bad since he’d gotten quite a bit of sleep.  
  
**Mickey**  
**12:10 PM**  
Morning. What a nice long sleep I’ve had. Man that felt good :)

Mickey smirked conspiratorially to himself as he went to see who else he’d been getting texts from.

**Simon  
05:55 AM  
** Sorry I just ditched you!!! :( I tried to find you to tell you I was leaving but I couldn’t see you ;_; Then I got distracted…………. Hope you got home ok  
  
**Simon  
05:56 AM**  
Had a good night though, thanks for giving me the push :)  
  
**Simon**  
**06:00 AM**  
Zack is really nice, I might see him again. Now good night, sorry again!!

Mickey felt himself smiling as he typed back.

**Mickey**  
12:13 AM  
No problem man. Ran into Ian. Had a good night too. Glad u had fun  
  
With those social responsibilities taken care of (Mickey really wasn’t accustomed to waking up to people texting him) he got out of bed to start the day. Mickey had no work today, so said day was spent in front of the TV and occasionally texting either Ian or Simon. Simon wanted to know everything about what had happened with Ian, so they swapped stories for a bit. Simon’s evening had been slightly more eventful than Mickey’s; it had definitely contained more nudity, but Simon seemed to be into Mickey’s story nonetheless. He called him cute and adorable, words Mickey definitely wasn’t used to having associated with himself.

Ian told Mickey they could meet up outside the cinema around seven for their date, half an hour before the movie started, so Mickey finally hauled his ass up and got dressed at six in the evening. He loved having days off. He didn’t miss having to go to the gym every day either, now when he could see Ian outside of that bullshit. His body probably wouldn’t thank him in the long run, but fuck, who cares. He was getting laid, that trumps getting in shape.

Plus, sex burns calories. So there.

Ian was already waiting for him when Mickey arrived, all smiles and looking radiant as ever. He glanced around before leaning in to give Mickey a quick kiss. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” Mickey said, trying not to look as giddy as he felt. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better now,” Ian said with a grimace. “After, like, five hundred cups of coffee. You should’ve stopped me last night when I decided those shots were a good idea.”

They walked into the cinema, making their way towards the popcorn and snacks. “Oh, so you getting trashed the night before an early shift is my fault?” Mickey bumped his shoulder into Ian, earning one back.

“Totally.”

“Uh-huh.”

Ian bought one giant box of popcorn for both of them to share and insisted to pay for both that and their sodas. Mickey hung back as Ian paid and tried not to be embarrassed of the fact that they clearly looked like two guys on a date. Or maybe straight guys paid for each other’s shit all the time, Mickey had no idea.  He had to remind himself several times that it was fine, that he’d been on dates with Ian before.

“You okay?” Ian asked once he’d paid and they were waiting to be let into the theater.  

“Yeah, no problem.” Mickey snagged a piece of popcorn before Ian could hold it out of his reach.

“Hey, nothing before the movie starts.”

“The fuck, Gallagher?”

Ian shook his head. “Nope. Have one and suddenly we’ll have eaten the entire thing before we’ve even sat down.”

Mickey mock-scowled at him, but kept his hand out of the box despite how tempting it looked nestled in Ian’s arms.  

Ten minutes before the movie was scheduled to start, Ian and Mickey made their way into the theater. Ian had gotten them tickets in the back and Mickey snickered as they sat down. “Plannin’ on making out with me in the back row, Red?”

Ian shrugged innocently. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mickey quickly stole another piece of popcorn, earning himself a slap on the wrist but he popped it into his mouth anyway, grinning widely.  

The theater wasn’t even a third full when the lights dimmed and the previews started. Mickey preferred that, he hated it when it was full. Less people, less noise. Now, on a date, it was extra nice, as there were no one else sitting on their row, or even two rows in front of them. The closest people were four rows down, a group of three friends as well as another couple on a date right next to them.

“They chose a bat spot,” Ian said to Mickey, nodding towards the couple.

“They could just move, they’ve got plenty of empty seats to pick from.”

“Maybe they’re not that smart.”

Ian turned his head, meeting Mickey’s eyes, because Mickey was already looking at him. Of course he was.

“But we are,” he said, closing the distance between them in a soft kiss that made Mickey’s toes curl in his shoes.

Hell yeah they were.

Ian kept the box of popcorn pressed between his thigh and Mickey’s seat, so both he and Mickey could reach it. When the lights went out completely and the movie began, Ian apparently decided to be a huge cliché and intertwined his fingers with Mickey’s.

Mickey snorted, but didn’t pull away. He cursed his heart for speeding up because this was such a lame-ass thing to get so worked up about. They were holding hands like a pair of fifteen year olds on their first date.

They both ate popcorn with their opposite hands and it was slightly awkward, but Mickey didn’t want to let go of Ian’s hand, even when their palms started getting a little sweaty. Twenty minutes into the movie, Ian’s thumb was stroking the back of Mickey’s hand in slow circles. Mickey was so focused on the sensation that he missed the next ten minutes, completely zoned out.

He was only pulled back into the present, and to the movie, when Ian leaned closer to him and whispered, “That was cool” in reference to whatever had just happened on screen. Mickey nodded as if he had any idea what Ian was talking about. He made an effort to pay attention from there on out, so that Ian wouldn’t laugh at him later when he tried to talk to Mickey about what they’d seen.

“So you didn’t actually make out with me,” Mickey said as they stepped out almost two hours later. His palm was sweaty and tingly, but he felt good.

“I never understood making out during the whole movie. You paid to see it,” Ian said, throwing the empty popcorn box away. He put an arm around Mickey’s shoulder and Mickey let him almost without a second thought. “You can make out after.”

“That what we’re gonna do now?”

Ian grinned at him. “If you wish.”

“I do wish.”

“Mine or yours?”

They were walking down the street now, with Ian’s arm still casually flung around Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey had never shown this much affection in public before, but it felt alright. It was weird, but not bad. And no one had said anything yet, so maybe there was some hope left for humanity.

“Mine’s walking distance.”

“Yours it is. So what was your favorite part of the movie?”

Mickey was glad he had decided to start paying attention.

* * *

They ended up ordering pizza and playing on Mickey’s old PlayStation. Apparently Ian got very into video games, laughing and swearing loudly, moving his entire body and jabbing at the buttons as if pressing them harder and faster would do anything other than just break the fucking controller. 

“You’re a menace, man,” Mickey said, laughing as Ian screamed his way through a hoard of zombies. “Just fuckin’ — yeah, like that, don’t push all the buttons at once.”

“I can’t help it, I get stressed out!” Ian was on the edge of his seat, literally, frantically trying to survive but alas, no such luck. “Fuck.” He sank back into his seat, throwing the controller into Mickey’s lap. He was panting like the zombies he’d been fighting had been in the actual room and not on the screen. “Your turn.”

Mickey leaned back as well, resting his left ankle on his right knee. He popped the last piece of pizza into his mouth before picking up the controller. “Jesus, this is sweaty as fuck.” He reached over to wipe in on Ian’s sleeve, ignoring Ian’s huffing protest. “Watch and learn, Red.”

Mickey wiped out the hoard easily, his character barely getting a scratch, but when he was done he found that Ian wasn’t even looking at the television, he was looking at him with a soft smile on his lips.

Mickey paused the game. “What’s that smile?”

“Nothing. You’re good at that.” He nodded towards the screen, still keeping his eyes on Mickey.

Mickey raised an eyebrow. “And what, that turns you on?”

Ian shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe you just turn me on in general.”

Mickey put the controller down next to him and turned towards Ian more fully. “Is that s-”

Ian’s lips were on his before he could finish his sentence. One of Ian’s hands pushed into his hair and Mickey lay back, pulling Ian on top of him.

“Ow, fuck,” he hissed when the controller dug into his back. He reached behind himself to push it to the floor.

Ian chuckled, capturing Mickey’s lips between his and just kissed him until Mickey had to forcefully twist his head sideways so he could breathe. “Jesus, man,” he laughed breathlessly, running his hands up Ian’s back, across his strong shoulders and down to grip his biceps, bulging from holding himself up over Mickey. Mickey had never been with a guy this ripped before, he had literally never touched a six pack before Ian. He had no complaints whatsoever.

“Too much for you?” Ian teased, rolling his hips into Mickey’s. None of them were hard yet, but at this rate it wouldn’t take much to get Mickey going.

“Gotta let me breathe, dude.”

Ian hummed, focusing his lips on Mickey’s neck instead.

Mickey moaned, arching up into Ian’s strong body, basking in the feeling of having him all around him. Ian’s lips were still attached to his neck and Mickey felt his teeth graze his skin. That was enough to get his dick twitching and he turned his head to give Ian better access.

A pointed cough cause both of them to freeze. Ian looked up sharply while Mickey awkwardly bent his head backwards so he could see behind them.

Mandy was standing there, arms crossed, an amused smile on her face. “Good evening, boys. Nice to see you again, Ian.”

Ian said an awkward hello and pushed himself off Mickey, sitting back up. Mickey remained where he was, scowling at Mandy, looking at her upside down. “Bitch, get out, we’re busy.”

“I wanted to hang out,” Mandy said, pouting like a child. She was in her stupid one-piece that Mickey always teased her about because she looked like that one gay Teletubby, especially with her hair up in a bun like that.

“It’s okay,” Ian said, placing a hand on Mickey’s knee. “She can stay, right?” He reached down to pick the PlayStation controller up from the floor and held it up towards Mandy. “Wanna play?”

Mandy lit up and bounced over to them, throwing Mickey’s legs off the couch and sat down between them like the fucking professional cockblock she was.

“Don’t want you two to start getting it on right in front of me,” she explained when she caught Mickey’s murderous glare. “Deal with it. Plus -” she looked over at Ian. “I wanna get to know you better if you’re gonna start hogging my brother all the time.”

Ian didn’t seem bothered by that, so Mickey didn’t protest.

Their gaming session soon turned into both Mickey and Mandy laughing their asses off at how bad Ian was at killing zombies.

“You’re so precious,” Mandy said, wiping a fake tear from her eye. “I like this one, Mickey.” As she said it, Mickey knew she meant it. She didn’t just approve of Ian because he was hot; she genuinely seemed to like him. He didn’t need his sister’s approval, but it felt damn nice to have it anyway.

“You two are awful,” Ian said, throwing the controller over to Mandy. He was grinning though, so he clearly wasn’t taking the teasing personally.  

“The only awful one here is you, Firecrotch,” Mickey said and they shared a grin over the top of Mandy’s head.

“Enough flirting,” Mandy said and grabbed both of their heads and twisted their faces towards the television. “Watch me kick ass.”

They passed the controller back and forth for two more hours before Ian told them he had to get home.  

“No,” Mandy whined, attaching herself to his arm as if they had known each other for years and not just a couple of hours. “Don’t leave.”

“Sorry,” Ian laughed, looking over at Mickey with an amused smile on his face. Mickey just rolled his eyes at him, but echoed Mandy’s actions on the inside. “I’m visiting my family in Chicago this weekend, my bus leaves at six in the morning.”

Mandy let him go, grimacing. “Yikes. To the Chicago thing _and_ the bus thing.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty gross, but leaving that early gives me a whole extra day to spend with them so.” He got up, stretching his arms and rolling his neck. Both Mandy and Mickey watched him move with appreciation.

Mickey followed Ian to the door. Unfortunately the door wasn’t out of eye shot from the living room, so he could feel Mandy’s prying eyes on them. “So, back to Chicago, huh?”

Ian nodded. “Yeah. It’s been a while since I saw all my family together.”

“Which one of them?”

“The south-side one,” Ian said, chuckling a little. “I always felt closest to them, I don’t really talk much to my dad or his family anymore.”

“Sucks.”

Ian smiled one of his Ian smiles. “Nah, it’s cool, we’re on good terms, we just don’t have a lot in common. It’ll be fun, I’ll be staying at the old house and we’ll all meet up there and have a proper Gallagher reunion slash party.”

Mickey could see that Ian was excited, and that made him excited for him, as lame as that sounded. Still, just the thought of going back to Chicago, especially that neighborhood, sent a wave of anxiety to the pit of his stomach. Ian would be fine though, he told himself, his family was alright. “Have fun,” he said with a lopsided smile. Casual.

“Will do.” Ian leaned in for a kiss, holding Mickey close by his waist. “I’ll text you.”

Mickey slapped his ass playfully. “You better.”

They shared another quick kiss, another ‘bye, see you”, and then Ian was out the door. He spent a couple seconds just breathing and coming back to himself before going back into the living room where Mandy was smirking at him.

“Shut up.”

She held her hands up in mock surrender. “I didn’t say anything.” There was a beat. “But man, he’s cute.”

Mickey groaned, but didn’t argue.

“I mean it, like, way too cute for you.” She nudged him in the side with her elbow. “But seriously though, I like him.”

“Good. Me too.”

“Oh, I think the whole universe can tell _you_ like him. You’re about as subtle as a ton of bricks.”

Mickey flung a pillow at her head. 

* * *

 

Mickey and Ian texted at random intervals throughout the weekend. Ian had been out to dinner with his family the day he arrived and he’d given Mickey all the updates on all five hundred of his siblings, as if Mickey had any point of reference at all. Apart from Lip, who he had vague memories of from the neighborhood, and Fiona, who he’d seen at the gym, he had no idea who any of them were.  

The most interesting text came Saturday night, when Mickey was lying in bed about to go to sleep.

**Ian**  
What are you wearing?

Mickey’s eyebrows rose.

**Mickey**  
Are you sexting me rn?

**Ian**  
So what if I am?

Mickey swallowed, his dick already catching interest in the situation.

**Mickey**  
wearing boxers

**Ian  
** nice. I’m not wearing anything

Mickey sure hoped Ian had his own room back at his old house, but decided not to ask. Before he could reply, Ian had sent another message.

**Ian**  
I’m hard. Miss u

Mickey swallowed and couldn’t stop his hand from sliding into his boxers and cup his own growing erection. His next text was slightly more ballsy than he’d originally planned and he held his breath as he waited for Ian’s reply.

**Mickey**  
Can I see?

It only took a short moment, as if Ian had been just waiting for him to ask.

“Oh fuck,” Mickey groaned as a picture of Ian’s dick popped up in their chat. He clicked it so it could fill the entire screen. Ian had his hand wrapped around it, his thumb pressed into the sensitive spot right under the head. Mickey’s hand sped up in his boxers, staring at the picture for several long moments until he remembered to check the chat. 

**Ian**  
You like?  
Mickey?  
Are you touching yourself? ;)

**Mickey**  
Fuck yes I like. And fuck yes I am

**Ian**  
Let me see

Mickey stopped stroking his dick, staring at the words. He had never done this before, never sent anyone a picture of himself, much less his dick. He must’ve hesitated for too long, because Ian soon texted him again.

**Ian**  
Or not. It’s cool. Tell me what you’re doing ;)

Mickey slid his boxers down and off, kicking them off the bed completely. He turned on the camera on his phone, aiming it at his dick. It was awkward and he tried out a few angles, but in the end went with just a simple picture aimed from his chest so that his stomach and thighs were in the shot as well. He didn’t hold onto his dick, just let it point upwards in all its glory. Maybe it was more impressive that way.

He sent it before he could change his mind, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest, his nerves making his erection deflate a little bit.

He wouldn’t have had to worry though, because Ian replied instantly.

**Ian**  
Fuck Mickey. You’re so hot

Mickey curled his fingers back around his dick, tugging upwards with a low groan.

**Ian**  
Wish I was there  
I’d suck you  
And finger you 

Holy shit. Mickey’s head fell back against the pillows, his eyes falling shut as he lost himself in the sensation of his fingers around his cock, imagining Ian’s lips wrapped tightly around it.

**Mickey**  
Fck yees  
What else?

**Ian**  
I’d fuck you so hard  
Until you forgot your own name  
Then I’d fuck you again

There was a beat, then Ian sent another message.

**Ian  
** What are you doing?

Mickey’s fingers shook as he typed.

**Mickey**  
Jerking off. Thinkging of u 

**Ian**  
Mm me too.  
If I was there I’d eat you out

Mickey swore loudly, precome sliding down his shaft. He read the sentence again and again, committing it to memory. Ian’s tongue on him. In him. Fuck.

**Mickey**  
Gnna come

**Ian**  
Fuck yes Mickey come 4 me

And Mickey did. Reading those words, it only took him a few more frantic tugs before he came all over his stomach, twitching and groaning.

Next time he looked at his phone, there was a new picture. This one was of Ian’s now softening dick, but still very much red and swollen, with come dripping from the tip and onto his stomach. Mickey’s dick twitched in a weak attempt at getting hard again.

**Mickey** ~~  
~~ Ur killing me

**Ian**  
:)  
How was that?

**Mickey**  
Fucking fantastic  
  
**Ian**  
Good, for me too. Night, Mick x

**Mickey**  
Night loser


	13. And Take My Whole Life Too

Ian was coming home today.

That was the only thing on Mickey’s mind, pathetic as it might be. They they didn’t see each other every day anyway; he had no right to miss Ian so much when he had only been gone for one weekend.

But Mickey never claimed to be logical.

He was outside Ian’s apartment ten minutes later than they’d agreed, purposefully making himself fashionably late. He had wandered around the neighborhood aimlessly those past ten minutes, because it would seem desperate to show up at 8 o’clock on the dot. And Mickey was not desperate.

“Hey!” Ian was all smiles when he opened the door and Mickey instantly regretted having wasted those precious ten minutes because fuck.

“Hey, man,” he said, slipping inside and pulling Ian into a deep kiss. “Missed ya,” he said once he pulled away, his fingers curled around the back of his neck.

Ian’s smile widened.  It was so bright it hurt, and Mickey wanted to punch something. “You did?”

“Mhm.”

Ian leaned in to kiss him again, his smile transferring over to Mickey as soon as their lips touched.  

“I made casserole,” Ian said once they tore away from each other. “I’m not the best chef or anything, but…” He trailed off with an awkward shrug.

Mickey waved him off. “Dude, it’s no sweat, I’m used to eating pizza and take-out, a casserole is a goddamn gourmet meal to me.”

Ian laughed and stepped into the apartment, Mickey trailing after him, gazing at his back with far more admiration than he would like to admit.

The casserole was actually pretty damn good, at least by Mickey’s standards. No one had ever cooked anything for him from scratch before either.

“How’s your family?” he asked Ian, surprising himself by how genuine the question was. He actually wanted to know how they were, how Ian’s visit had been like. He genuinely cared about these people he didn’t even know. Or maybe he just cared about Ian having a good time. It was hard to tell.

He watched Ian’s eyes light up at the mention of his family, and if Mickey hadn’t known he was in trouble before then he definitely did now.

Ian told him everything he hadn’t already told him over the phone, how big his little brother Liam had gotten, how cute his niece was, how his other little brother was joining the police academy to the surprise of everyone and their grandma.

Mickey could listen to Ian talk for days.

“Oh, and I told them I was seeing someone.” Ian phrased it like a question, with a slight uptilt on the last word. He eyed Mickey carefully, gauging his reaction.

Mickey didn’t know what he was feeling. Too many things at once. “Ah,” was all he ended up with, his head spinning.

Ian’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I mean, they asked, kept asking, so I just said yes.” He sounded stressed now, like he was on damage control. “I just said I’m dating someone, not that I have a, you know, a –“

“Boyfriend?”

Ian nodded. “That okay? I didn’t want to lie to them, but I know we haven’t talked about telling people.”

Mickey shrugged, trying to keep his face neutral. “Mandy knows, and your colleagues. Suppose it’s okay.”

Ian’s nervous smile turned relieved. “Yeah? Okay. Okay, good.” He sank down in his chair almost comically.

A silence fell over them, and Mickey stared down at his food, his heart pounding. His brain was stuck on one word; boyfriend.

He waited, and the silence was deafening, but Ian didn’t ask.

* * *

 

Before Ian, Mickey didn’t know sex could be this good. Sure, he’d had plenty of good sex in his life, but this was on a whole other level.

Maybe it was Ian’s dick, bigger than the ones he’d had before. Maybe it was his technique, precise, unrelenting, always hitting the right spot. Maybe it was the way he kissed, deep, hot, slightly rough but gentle at the same time. Maybe it was the way he touched Mickey, softly, hands exploring, gently massaging and spreading him open, laying him bare.

Or maybe it was the way he looked at him, eyes intense, pupils blown. Mickey thought he might see his own adoration reflected in there.

Regardless, all this combined had Mickey gasping in pleasure, had him arching up and making sounds he hadn’t known his vocal chords could produce.

“That’s it,” Ian growled into his ear, driving into him so hard the headboard rattled against the wall.

Mickey clawed at Ian’s back, eyes rolled back into his head as he came with a drawn-out moan verging on a whimper.

Ian pulled back, watching him come, and followed not soon after with a shudder and a groan so sexy Mickey stored it away for later use when he was alone.

They fell onto the mattress, breathless, laughing, and Mickey draped his forearm over his eyes. “Fuck,” he breathed, lips stretched wide in a smile.

Ian pulled his arm away and kissed him. Mickey could taste the sweat on his upper lip. “Best ‘welcome home’ ever,” Ian said before falling back down onto his back.

“I dunno, I could go for a round two.”

Ian raised his eyebrows at him. “Oh yeah? Well, give me a moment and I’ll get right on that.”

Mickey, impatient as ever, held back a smirk and trailed a hand down Ian’s stomach until it reached his cock, still swollen but softening. “But I want it now.” He blinked, batting his eyelashes, and Ian laughed out loud, moaning softly at the touch.

“Mhm, go on then,” he said, grinning and folding his arms behind his head. “Get me ready.”

Mickey didn’t have to be told twice.

* * *

Two hours later Mickey felt like his body had been through a meat grinder, but in a good way.

“Fuck me,” he groaned, heaving for breath, still shuddering through aftershocks of his last orgasm.

“Oh, I would but even I have my limits,” Ian said, poking his tongue through his teeth as he smiled.

Mickey slapped his chest with the back of his hand, stretching out on the bed. The sheets were damp and totally disgusting, but neither of them were up for moving right now, so it would have to do for the night. “Shut up,” he murmured, feeling the exhaustion creep up on him. His eyelids were heavy. “Can’t fucking move, I’m just gonna stay here for the next week.”

Ian wrapped his clammy arm around his middle, pulling him closer. “Mhm, okay.”

Mickey was asleep before he could begin to overanalyze that.

* * *

Mickey woke to the sun shining straight into his face. Ian really needed to get some blinds, or just curtains that weren’t fucking white. It was nice though, the way the curtains swayed slightly under the open window, fucking birds singing outside. Mickey usually hated being woken up by birds, but there was something about this morning that made him not care.

He also woke up to being snuggled up in the crook of Ian’s arm with his head on his chest, so that added to it.

He remained where he was, despite being hungry as fuck and having to piss like a race horse. He trailed his fingers up and down Ian’s stomach, taking in the freckles and the light red happy trail.

He didn’t know Ian was awake before he heard the rumbled, “Mornin’,” vibrating from his chest.

He didn’t move away, but stilled the movements of his fingers, slightly sheepish at having been caught being such a sap. “Mornin’.”

Ian stretched, still with Mickey on his chest and scratched his stomach, his fingers bumping into Mickey’s as he did so. “Want breakfast?” he asked, stroking up Mickey’s arm in a way that made his skin tingle. Ian had a way of touching him that made Mickey feel as if he was being caressed. He didn’t know if he’d even been caressed as an infant, but here Ian was, giving it to him now.  

“Yeah, and a shower.”

“You can have the first one, I’ll shower after we eat.”

Mickey was about to suggest they shower together, but he had tried shower sex once before and man, it’s not as hot as you’d think. Though he’d give it another chance with Ian. Sometime.

“Alright.”

Ian was silent for a few seconds before he nudged Mickey’s arm. “You’re actually gonna have to move though.”

 “Do I have to?” he complained, but slowly rolled off Ian and sat up, his back popping. “Shit.” He stretched his neck and gingerly swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “I feel like the time I forgot to stretch after the gym.”

Ian laughed, loudly and beautifully. “Aw, did I wear you out, baby?”

Mickey tried not to react at the pet name, though his stomach tightened.  

“Shut up.”

* * *

 

Mickey came over again after work. They watched a movie on Ian’s couch, thighs and shoulders pressed together, and Mickey thought he could get used to this.

* * *

 

“You don’t have to go home, you know,” Ian said the next day, so fake-casual that even Mickey could see right through it.

He stilled with his hand still on the doorknob. “You’ve got one of those early shifts again, I don’t wanna keep you up.”

“You won’t,” Ian promised, pulling Mickey in for a kiss, slowly pushing his jacket off his shoulders. “C’mon,” he breathed against his lips. “Stay.”

Mickey hesitated, but the look in Ian’s eyes was sincere. He gave in, what else could he do? It’s not like he wanted to go home to an empty bed anyway. “Okay, okay, I’ll stay with your needy ass,” he teased, pushing up closer to him. “But at least let me go home and get my toothbrush and some clothes for tomorrow.”

Ian seemed hesitant to let him do even that and Mickey smiled, elated and amazed that someone could be so reluctant to let him go. 

“C’mon man, don’t you think me using your toothbrush is gross?”

Ian pressed their lips together, his tongue sliding in between Mickey’s. He moaned, falling into the kiss.

“Alright, point taken,” Mickey said as he pulled away, wiping the slobber off his lips. “Still going though, but I’ll be back.”

Ian slapped his ass. “You better. Oh, and get your gym shit while you’re there, I’m heading to there after work and you’re coming with me.”

“Nooo, let me live,” Mickey groaned, leaning forward to rest his forehead on Ian’s shoulder.

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“The only thing that was ever fun about that place was watching you.”

Even if he wasn’t looking at Ian, he knew Ian was smirking. “Oh yeah? Are you telling me the only reason you-“

Mickey pulled away abruptly, picked his jacket off the floor and leapt out the door. “Alright, bye now,” he called, giving Ian a pointed wave as he fled.

He heard Ian’s booming laugh echo behind him.

* * *

 

Mickey ended up going to the gym with Ian. Because the alternative was saying ‘no’ and having to sit around and wait for him, which just wasn’t going to work for Mickey.

* * *

 

Mickey didn’t know how it had happened, but suddenly he had spent five whole consecutive nights at Ian’s apartment. He went home the sixth night, despite Ian’s protests this time, because fucking hell, there had to be some boundaries. They weren’t even together, they couldn’t play house indefinitely.

He had only just walked through the door of his own apartment when there were several loud bangs on the door. He flinched, his heart in his throat, but relaxed as soon as he heard Mandy’s voice demanding him to open the door.

He barely got the door open before she was pushing her way inside, glaring daggers at him. “I almost filed a missing person’s report.”

“Hello to you too.”

She struck the bitch pose, both hands firmly on her hips. “I don’t think I like this whole Mickey with a boyfriend thing. I’m used to you always being here to let me eat your shit or smoke weed, and suddenly you’re just gone for an entire week. I don’t approve.”

“Ian’s not my boyfriend.”

Mandy’s eyebrows rose higher. “ _Sure_ he’s not.”

Mickey ignored her, walking over to the fridge to get himself a beer. He swallowed a mouthful and pulled his phone out of his pocket when he felt it vibrate.

“That better not be his needy ass summoning you again,” Mandy said, arms crossed over her chest. “I want to hate-watch The Kardashians.”

“It’s not,” Mickey said, opening the text from Simon. “Oh, hell.”

“What?” Mandy stepped over to him and peered over his shoulder. “Hah! You gotta say yes, that’s amazing.”

“I barely know how to go on a date with _just_ Ian, how the fuck does a double date work?”

“It’s just like going to the bar with a couple of friends. No big deal.”

Mickey eyed her skeptically, but opened up his chat with Ian.

 **Mickey  
** Yo, my friend wants to know if we want to go on a double date Friday night. I know it’s lame so you can say no

 **Ian  
** Sounds fun! Is this the friend from the gym?

 **Mickey  
** The very one

 **Ian  
** Ok cool, it’s a date

Mickey let Simon know that Ian was in, and put his phone on the kitchen counter. “What?” he threw in Mandy’s direction. She was standing with her arms crossed, scowling at him, but in that way that was more joking than serious.

“You’re out there making friends. It’s weird. Where’s the anti-social Mickey we all know and hate?”

Mickey thrust his middle finger in her face. “Fuck off, bitch. You jealous?”

She was right, however. It _was_ kind of weird. Mickey had never had a group of people to go do things with before. Sure, he was friendly with (some of) his co-workers, but not to the extent where it wouldn’t be awkward and completely unnatural to go out for a drink with them.

Mandy just scoffed as a response, but Mickey knew he hadn’t been wrong. Part of him felt bad for her, but another part of him knew that if it could happen for him, of all people, it could happen for her too. Milkoviches don’t make friends easily, but when they do it’s legit.

* * *

 

The restaurant was fancy. Well, fancy according to Mickey, not anyone else. When he arrived with Ian, Simon was already sitting at their table waiting for them. He shot up as soon as he saw them, smiling his giant smile as he shook Ian’s hand. He was wearing a floral button down shirt that would look ridiculous on anyone but Simon.  

“Nice to meet you finally,” he said to Ian, gesturing for them to sit down opposite him. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You have?” Ian sent Mickey a sly glance.

“Not _that_ much,” Mickey corrected, fiddling with the cream colored napkin on the table, willing his face not to turn red.  

Simon hummed. “I beg to differ.”

“Where’s your date?” Ian asked, shifting closer to Mickey.

 “Running late,” Simon said with an eye roll. His phone was lying on the table next to him, screen up, probably keeping an eye out for texts. “You can go ahead and order if you like.”

 “Nah, we’ll wait for him,” Ian said, ever so fucking polite. Mickey was starving, but he wasn’t going to be the odd man (or rude man) out and demand they order already.

 “Who is this dude anyway?” Mickey asked, protectiveness bubbling in his chest akin to what he felt whenever Mandy introduced him to a new guy. He had never felt this way for a non-family member before and he didn’t know what to think about that.

“Zack,” Simon said, his face immediately softening in a way that was quite telling.

 “No shit, that Asian guy from the club? You’re seeing him on the reg?”

 “He’s Japanese,” Simon corrected, beaming. “It’s really new, we’re still getting to know each other.”

Ian’s leg pressed against Mickey’s under the table. “So are we.”

Mickey forced himself to swallow and nodded. Simon winked at him subtly, then his eyes landed on something behind Mickey and he grinned again, wider than ever, and shot up from his seat for the second time. Mickey wondered if that’s what he looked like every time he looked at Ian, like he’d just discovered all the secrets if the universe. Simon embraced the lanky Asian dude Mickey remembered from the club, placing a quick, shameless kiss on his lips.

“Sorry I’m so late,” the guy, Zack, said, sounding flustered as he unwound a dark red scarf from around his neck. “Traffic was a bitch.” He quickly introduced himself, shaking both Mickey and Ian’s hands before sitting down.

“It’s okay,” Simon said, rubbing Zack’s thigh.

They were both dressed so spiffy. Mickey thanked the heavens that Ian was also wearing just a regular shirt and jeans, otherwise he’d have felt uncomfortably out of place.

Despite the fact that this was a whole new situation for Mickey, and that he was stone cold sober (he’d ordered a beer but one beer didn’t do much), it wasn’t terrible. They were talking, Ian and Simon for the most part, but Mickey didn’t feel like an outsider.

Friends. Who’d have fucking thought.

 “I’m an EMT,” Ian told Simon after being asked what he did, cutting into the baked potato on his plate that looked and smelled like something God had made with his own bare hands.

 “Really? Mickey, you didn’t tell me Ian was an EMT.”

 Mickey shrugged. “Ian is an EMT.”

Zack and Ian sniggered. Simon kicked Mickey under the table.

“No, but that’s really cool. That’s, like, a grown-up job. I’m still in retail hell.”

Zack high-fived him, clearly indicating that he did the same thing. “Sucks the life out of you.”

“At least you guys just have one job. Try having two,” Mickey said. “Let me tell you I used to be a fuckin’ asshole to waiters and servers. No more. I’ve been through some shit.”

He received laughter from all around the table. Oddly satisfying.

“Dude, tell me about it.” Zack leaned across the table towards him. “My first job was at MacDonald’s.”

Simon shook his head as if he had never heard such a tragic tale. “Fuck, rest in peace.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy,” Mickey said, and reached over to dig his fork into Ian’s baked potato, quickly snagging a taste.

“Hey!” Ian slapped his arm hard. “You could’ve ordered one yourself, you thief.”

“Sharing is caring,” Mickey stated simply, groaning around the fork. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Ian made a show of pulling his plate as far away from Mickey as it would go. “Anyway,” he said pointedly, clapping his hands together for silence. “I want retail horror stories. Go.”

* * *

They had a full three course meal. Mickey had never been so full in his entire life; it felt like his stomach was about to explode. He had probably overdone it at the end there with the banana split, but fuck, it was so worth it.

“Are we all headed towards the el?” Simon asked as they stepped out of the restaurant.

“Yup, we’re heading to mine,” Ian said, glancing at Mickey for confirmation. He nodded. As if he was going to go home and sleep in bed alone after this. That would’ve been a depressing end to a date.

Ian and Mickey ended up walking a step behind Simon and Zack. Mickey was too full to keep up with Simon’s long-ass legs; that would have to be Zack’s job.

“They’re nice,” Ian said, talking quietly so the two in front wouldn’t hear.

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed, glad to hear Ian didn’t hate his accidental friend. He knew Simon could come across as a bit much, but anyone could tell he didn’t have a bad bone in his lanky-ass body.

He watched them, Simon walking fast with a perpetual and kind of hypnotizing sway in his hips, and Zack struggling to keep up. He and Ian both sniggered, but they fell quiet when Zack’s hand sought out Simon’s and they intertwined their fingers tightly.

Mickey quickly pretended not to have noticed, his own hand prickling.

Could he?

Could they?

They could.

Ian’s hand was in his, warm and steady and _there_ , and Mickey’s heart beat fast, not out of fear, but out of something he didn’t have a name for. Yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the worst at updating. I don't know if anyone still cares about this story, so if you do let me know! Thanks for still being around!


End file.
